Return to Sender
by clothsofheaven
Summary: Draco Malfoy hated living in Muggle London. That was until the day he started to receive Harry Potter's mail.
1. Part One

Thanks to Vittani, my wonderful beta, who always comes through for me when I need it most.

**Disclaimer:**

This story is loosely based on (admittedly two of the sappiest movies ever made) 'You've Got Mail' and 'The Lake House'. As well as my all time favourite books (other than the Harry Potter series, of course) 'Bridget Jones's Diary' and 'Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason', which were both based on Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' and 'Persuasion'.

This story also contains quotes and ideas from these movies and books.

You all know that I don't own the Harry Potter characters (JKR does). But if I did, something like this would happen to them...

---

The rain fell in a steamy curtain. It blurred the windows and pounded on the roof of Grimmauld Place.

The noise had started off Mrs Black's portrait, but had also drowned out her horrible screeching.

Harry drew one of the large, dusty drapes open and peered outside.

As he bent forward, in an attempt to see the downpour through the water-streaked window, a flicker of lightening hollowed the sky and briefly lit-up the deserted street below.

An instant later a thunderclap followed, so loud that the old house seemed to shake. The echoes of it rolled over-head for long seconds and the rain beat harder.

"Great," Harry sighed. "Just great."

"It's only a storm," Hermione said to him, as several spiders scampered out from under the mouldy sofa she had just pointed her wand at and spelled clean.

"No, it's a warning sign. I shouldn't move in here." Harry closed the curtain, slumped away from the window and went back to the cardboard box he had been unpacking.

"I know you don't like it, Harry, but it's for your own good." Hermione tried to sound encouraging as she took his previous place at the window. After a small struggle she pushed it open and deposited the spiders outside as carefully as she could without getting wet.

"You sound just like Kingsley," Harry grumbled.

"Kingsley is right, you know, mate." Ron walked into the lounge room, levitating a box in front of him. "You're safe here."

"If you think Kingsley's idea is so great, why don't you move in here yourself?"

"Sorry, mate," Ron replied. He lowered his wand and sent the box tumbling onto the sofa. "Hermione and I have just found this really great apartment, so if she gets that job at St Mungo's we'll be able to--"

The rest of Ron's sentence was covered by another loud crash of thunder and Hermione yelling, "Ron! I just finished cleaning that!"

"Sorry," Ron said again, picking up the box and its spilled contents. "My hand slipped."

"Those are Harry's Auror training books, you have to be careful!" Hermione continued, beginning to smooth down the rumpled couch fabric with her hands.

"I'll just take those upstairs then." Harry announced, taking the box out of Ron's arms.

Harry wanted to have some time on his own to mope. He knew that she had that Healer job in the bag.

Hermione and Ron would be moving into a cosy London flat together and Harry would be stuck in the depressing Black family home, with its shadows and whispers and dark, mouldy walls that made his heart feel heavy.

Ron hadn't followed the Auror path like Harry. He had joined the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as a Hit-Wizard instead. While his job was similar to Harry's, it wasn't nearly as dangerous or demanding.

Harry had just completed his Auror training, which had been his goal ever since fifth year when Umbridge told him that he couldn't. It had been a tough three years, but he had finally done it.

During his graduation ceremony, Kingsley Shaklebolt pulled him aside and suggested that he move out of his flat and into Grimmauld place that was still unplottable and protected by security charms. Apparently Harry was still a major target out on the field, even though he had learnt how to disguise his scar in his training.

Harry politely turned down the offer at first. Grimmauld place may be unplottable, but it certainly wasn't liveable, and even though Sirius had left it to him, he wasn't keen on returning anytime soon.

Harry also loved his Muggle flat. He had been living there ever since the war ended. It was just a couple of blocks away from the Ministry, so he could walk to work every morning before being cooped up in training all day. Harry would have gone insane if he couldn't have returned to his flat after a long day of gruelling aptitude tests and dodging various hexes.

Unfortunately for Harry, Kingsley was quite insistent that he move to more protected quarters. When he couldn't convince Harry on his own, he employed the help of Hermione Granger.

Together they conjured up more ways in which Harry could die or be seriously injured in one week than Professor Trelawney had done in his six years at Hogwarts.

Between the new Minister of Magic and the most determined witch in all of England, Harry had had one hell of a battle on his hands.

It was an argument that continued for several days and abruptly ended one afternoon when he came home to find his beloved flat stripped bare and all of his belongings packed into his old Hogwarts trunk and several cardboard boxes.

Harry dumped the box of Auror books on the bed in the bedroom he and Ron had shared during the summer before fifth year and looked around.

The room hadn't changed much, only it was dustier and smelt strongly of mould.

A pine bureau still stood in the corner with Phineas Nigellus Black's portrait attached to the wall above it. In the other corner, there was an armchair with a tatty, moth-eaten slipcover and a set of bare shelves.

Harry moved slowly around the room. Lightly, with the tips of his fingers, he touched the metal curves of the bed head and the empty bookshelf, and then circled with his forefinger and his thumb the worn knob of the bureau drawers.

He didn't want to be in this dreadful place. Even with Ron and Hermione's help, there was not much he could do to make the house look welcoming.

The walls were too thick and mouldy. He wanted to be back in his Muggle flat, where he could hear his noisy neighbours and see the ugly wallpaper.

Here, he was disconnected from everything and everyone. The room seemed to enclose him, embedding him within itself in a way that was almost frightening.

He sank down onto the bed, sitting motionless with his arms hanging between his parted knees.

His thoughts were interrupted when Ron pushed the door open with the toe of his sneaker. He came in without waiting to be asked and sat on the edge of Harry's bed.

"Hermione's making dinner," he said. "You alright?"

Harry shrugged.

"Come on, Harry," Ron said in the cheeriest tone he could muster in the gloomy bedroom. "It's not all bad. At least you're not in any danger here."

"I'm still in danger." Harry muttered forlornly. "In danger of going insane."

He got up and went to the window. The storm was beginning to pass. Patches of night sky showed in places through the ragged masses of cloud.

Ron could tell that Harry was thinking about Sirius and how he too couldn't stand being locked up with nothing but a portrait of an old woman and a surly house-elf for company.

"You know, the apartment we're thinking of buying is really close by, just a couple of blocks away, and my office is going to be right down the hall from yours."

Harry could see Ron's blurred reflection through the window glass and forced his mouth into a small smile. He appreciated Ron and Hermione's efforts, but they really had no idea what it was like to be stuck all on your own.

Harry was about to respond, but became distracted by a distant, fluctuating, screeching sound, which he identified as Mrs Black's portrait, now audible as the rain slowly began to die down.

"Ron? Harry? Can you hear me?" Hermione's voice could barely be heard through the din.

Ron stood up and went to the door. "Yeah!"

"What's the matter with you? Will you get down here and quieten Mrs Black down? Dinner's nearly ready."

---

Draco dropped a fistful of cutlery on to the table.

"There must be some fucking glasses here somewhere." He began to open and bang shut cupboard doors as he searched for plates and glasses. A pizza box stood unopened on the kitchen bench.

He found the glasses in the last cupboard. He scrutinised the ugly cups for several seconds before grabbing what he deemed to be the cleanest one.

With the clockwork force of habit he opened the refrigerator and quickly closed it again.

"Buy groceries." Draco made a mental note to himself as he took the glass over to the sink and filled it with water before casting a cooling charm on it.

He went back to the fridge and retrieved the empty water jug that stood solitarily on the bare shelf.

He took the jug over to the sink and filled it as well before placing it back in the refrigerator. This time he noticed a folded piece of paper, labelled _Dear New Tenant_, pinned to the freezer door.

Draco carelessly ripped it out of its magnet hold, as he kicked the fridge door closed, and carried it over to the kitchen table with his dinner.

He sat down in one of the mismatched chairs, opened his pizza box and placed one of the doughy triangles onto the plate he had laid out.

He picked up his knife and fork and attempted to cut the pieces up small, so he could eat without getting his hands greasy, but the dough was too thick and the cheese was too stringy.

He ended up taking a second piece from the box and eating it with his hands. He then took a sip of water, unfolded the note and began to read.

_Dear new tenant,_

_Welcome to your new home. As the previous tenant, let me say, I'm sure you'll love living here as much as I did._

_I filed a change of address with the post office, but you know what a crapshoot that can be. So if anything slips through, would you do me a favour and forward my mail? I'd appreciate it. My new PO Box is below._

_Thanks in advance._

_P.S._

_Sorry about the ugly wall paper. I wanted to strip it down, but it would have brought me another layer closer to Mr McAlister next door, who, by the way, always plays his bagpipes at five o'clock every evening._

_I suggest that you either leave the building at that time or buy yourself a pair of earplugs, because everything gets thorough those paper-thin walls._

A thread of cheese looped out of Draco's mouth and he caught it with his fingers and pushed it between his pursed-up lips.

He wiped his greasy fingers on the letter, scrunched it up and threw it in the direction of the rubbish bin that he had briefly taken notice of in his search for the glasses.

He left the other two-thirds of his dinner. The mozzarella was beginning to solidify into an oily waxen mass around the chucks of mushroom and pepperoni. He eyed it distastefully. If there was one thing that he hated more than the Muggles themselves, it was Muggle food.

He tipped the leftovers into the bin, stepping over the crumpled up letter on his way.

Draco couldn't care less about the stupid Muggle and their mail. He had his own problems to deal with right now, like his new job for a start.

Draco had been living in Muggle London ever since the end of the war. It wasn't his ideal choice of residence, but post-war life in the wizarding world was difficult for him.

The war was over, but people still had trouble trusting him. With his family's Death Eater past, getting a job was a struggle. After countless, degrading (in his opinion) Muggle jobs, he had finally been given a position at the Ministry of Magic due to three years of what the Ministry deemed to be 'good behaviour'.

While Draco hated living and working as a Muggle, even Draco had to admit that there were certain positives to his new lifestyle. He learnt that while the Muggle world was inferior, at times it could be almost companionable and easy-going. Being there mostly meant that you just went quietly about your business. The younger Draco Malfoy would have dismissed this certain quality. After the fall of Voldemort, however, not having anybody glare at Draco or make him feel like an outcast or criminal was quite a novelty.

Draco even found without his parents' constant interfering presence life was even more straightforward. Doing things his own way, he began to unload his belongings from his luggage.

He had barely finished unpacking the first box, when there was a knock at the door.

"Sorry, I'm late." Pansy burst in, bringing more of the outside world into the receptive room. She strode past him, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek, and put a stack of paperback novels and a liquor store brown bag on the scarred coffee table.

"Finally! I was starting to think that I would be unpacking all of these by myself," Draco said, but he quickly forgot about the boxes and gestured towards the wine she had brought. "Shall I?"

Pansy appeared not to have heard him. She stopped in the middle of the lounge room, looking at the mismatched chairs and the ugly wallpaper. "What are you doing in this place?" she asked in clear bewilderment.

Draco shrugged. "I didn't have much choice. This was the only place that I could find on such short notice."

"You didn't have another fight with the landlord, did you?" Pansy asked, dusting off one of the chairs before sitting down.

"No. The idiot next door."

"Draco--"

"It's not my fault that all Muggles are difficult to deal with."

"We've been living here for three years now. When are you going to learn how to get along with Muggles?"

"When they learn not to blast their horrible music while I'm trying to read. Besides, I didn't leave because of the disagreement. My lease expired."

"Why didn't you just renew it?"

Draco shrugged again. "I felt like a change."

"To this horrible little place?"

"Well, maybe if a certain someone would let me move in with them, we wouldn't be here right now."

Pansy turned slightly pink and began to pick at the torn fabric on the arm of her chair. "I haven't got room for you," she said, before mumbling. "Daniel finally agreed to move in with me."

"Vile Daniel gets to move in with you and I'm stuck in this place!" Draco yelled incredulously, flopping unceremoniously onto the chair next to her.

"Don't call him that, Draco." Pansy warned.

Sure, she was defending him now, but just last week she had called Draco, in tears, because Vile Daniel had chucked her for making some room for his overnight things in her sock drawer and suggesting that he keep a spare change of clothes at her flat.

Draco could think of plenty more appropriate words for the man other than 'vile', but he settled for his usual, "I can't believe you're dating a Muggle."

"I live in a muggle flat. I work in a muggle job. Why shouldn't I have a Muggle boyfriend?"

"The man's a lunatic. One minute he says that you're getting too serious by giving him some of your wardrobe space, the next he's packing his bags and moving _in_."

"I know it sounds silly, but he really seems committed this time."

"Muggles." Draco grumbled.

"Besides, you should be grateful." Pansy continued. "He thinks he can get you a job at his office."

"I don't need his charity. I got a job at the Ministry today."

"Oh Draco! That's wonderful! Let's open the wine!"

"Don't get too exited. I'm to be an assistant to an assistant. It makes a Muggle job seem admirable."

"Which department will you be in?"

"I don't know yet. I find out Monday." Draco lied smoothly. He knew exactly what department he'd be working in. He just wasn't in the mood to put up with Pansy's reaction to it tonight.

"I'm so proud of you." She gushed happily. "You can even find a nicer place and move out of here once you start earning again."

"Yeah," Draco agreed, pouring the wine into the ugly glasses and handing one to Pansy. "Let's not even bother unpacking."

"We'll unpack your books at least and give the place a bit of a spruce. It doesn't look like the previous owner cleaned very much."

Draco nodded in agreement. "They left me a letter on the fridge."

"What did it say?"

"Nothing important. The bloke next door plays bagpipes. Nothing a little magic won't fix."

"Draco." Pansy looked at him sternly. "Don't. You've just moved in and you're already on your way to being kicked out."

"I only meant a silencing charm."

"Promise me."

"I promise." Draco waved his hand dismissively. He decided to change the subject. "What books did you bring for me?"

"'Crime and Punishment' by Dostoyevsky. It's about a guy who breaks the neck of a poor woman with an axe and, so far, keeps wondering around regretting it."

"What do you mean 'so far'?" Draco gaped at her in shock. "You've read it?"

Pansy worked at a Muggle book store, but never picked up the books to read for herself. Draco had been reading Muggle books and taking advantage of Pansy's employee discount ever since she had started working there three years ago. Reading was how he passed the time in between his hideous Muggle jobs.

"No. I glanced at the first couple of pages, but I lost interest."

"Why doesn't that surprise me? What else did you bring?"

"'Bridget Jones' Diary' by Helen Fielding. It's about a young woman who eats too much, drinks too much and smokes too much. She has a dead end job and is very unlucky in love."

"You mean it's a book about you!" Draco gasped dramatically, enjoying the angry glower that appeared on his friend's face.

"It is not." Pansy sniffed frigidly, swallowing the last of her wine and pulling a lighter out of her pocket and lighting a cigarette.

Draco just stared at her with his eyebrows raised.

"Okay, there may be some similarities." Pansy admitted, after taking a particularly hard puff of her cigarette and blowing the smoke angrily through her nose. "She has a gay friend who can't get over this particular guy…"

"I'm not like that!" Draco shouted defensively.

Pansy raised her eyebrows at him, mimicking his expression from before.

"You know, I heard Harry Potter has finished his Auror training." She smiled smugly.

"Really? I didn't know that." It was Draco's turn to realise an angry puff of air from his nostrils. Pansy could have sworn she saw smoke, even though he wasn't holding a cigarette.

"He'll be at The Ministry every day," she continued, even under Draco's death stare. "Just like you. How convenient."

Draco didn't reply. He just continued to glare at her over his glass as he took a particularly large gulp of wine.

Harry Potter was not the main reason why he had been so set on getting a job at the Ministry. Not at all…

---

This was not the way Harry had planned to start his first day as an Auror. Not at all.

"Hold the lift!" he called, sprinting through the golden Ministry gates.

He had tried his best not to be late, but his alarm clock had ended up in the trash, along with all of his other electronic possessions, after the move.

He was just about to give up and wait for the next lift when a long, pale hand appeared and slid the wrought iron grilles back open.

"Thanks." Harry panted, stepping into the lift and pushing his fringe out of his eyes.

"No problem, Potter." Came the cool, drawled reply.

Harry whipped his head in the direction of the familiar sound just as the lift grilles closed with a loud crash.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

It had been three years since Harry had last laid eyes on his school-yard nemesis. As far as he knew Malfoy hadn't stepped foot into the Ministry of Magic since then and had been living as a Muggle in London.

Malfoy seemed completely at ease, however. It was as if he had never left at all. He was leaning against the lift wall, his head bent, emersed in a book. He didn't jump like Harry did when the lift rattled abruptly and began to descend.

"I'm going to work." Malfoy eventually said, in the same cool tone as the female voice that was now also filling the lift.

"_Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports…"_

"You work here?" Harry almost shouted in disbelief over the rest of the announcement.

Malfoy simply shrugged, eyes not leaving his book.

Harry gaped at him. "Since when?"

"Since today."

The grilles opened and several memos swooped into the lift before they clanged shut again.

"But I thought that you were practically a Muggle now." The words had flown out of Harry's mouth before he knew it. Six years at Hogwarts had taught him to never mention the words Malfoy and Muggle in the same sentence.

Malfoy's eyes snapped up from his book and pinned Harry with a piercing gaze. He opened his mouth, a scathing retort undoubtedly on the tip of his tongue. "You--"

"_Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office and Apparation Test Centre."_

The lift opened once more and a large group of witches and wizards poured inside.

Harry lost sight of Malfoy and found himself jammed up against the back wall. He settled for staring up at the memos flapping around above his head as the lift continued its journey downwards.

By the time _"Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee"_ was announced almost all of the memos had zoomed out and everybody had exited the lift except for Harry and Malfoy.

Harry was surprised when the lift stopped on Level Two and Malfoy snapped his book shut and slipped it into his robe pocket.

"You're getting out on this level too?" Harry asked incredulously, as he followed Malfoy out of the lift and into a corridor lined with doors.

Malfoy didn't turn around to answer him. "Looks like it," he said, continuing down the corridor, around the corner, through a pair of heavy oak doors and past a lopsided sign that read: _Auror Headquarters_.

"You work _here_? You're an Auror?" Harry's shock was so loud that all of the talk and laughter of the Auror Headquarters ceased. Even the memos that were zooming in and out of the cubicles seemed to pause in mid-air.

The silence didn't last for long. A scarlet-robed man with a long pony-tail who had been talking to a witch with a patch over one eye began to chuckle. "Of course not, Potter."

Richard Finch, Head of the Auror Department made has way over to them as the buzzing talk of the office began once again.

"Malfoy's going to be assisting Perpetua with the filing. Here," he said brusquely, shoving a sheaf of parchment into Malfoy's hand. "Perpetua will take you through it all." He pointed over to where a small, strict-looking witch was sitting, dictating something to a quill.

After Malfoy departed, uncharacteristically without arguing or using the words 'my father will hear about this', Finch beckoned Harry along the row of cubicles and into the one on the end.

Upon stepping inside Harry received a slight shock; blinking down at him from every direction were the faces of many wanted wizards. He instantly found Sirius amongst them.

"Your desk," Finch said unenthusiastically. "The worst part of the job. He's where you'll get all of your paperwork done."

Harry barely had a minute to register it all before he was being steered back down the corridor again. "Time to meet the rest of the team."

Harry mechanically followed Finch, silently wandering what the worst part of his job would really be. Doing paperwork under the intense gaze of two dozen criminals or being in the same room as Draco Malfoy.

---

All day, Draco could feel Perpetua's gaze boring into him so intently he was surprised it hadn't left holes in his back.

Perpetua was small and bent-backed, dressed in layers of nondescript brown and grey clothes. She was sharp-eyed and inquisitive-looking, rather like a small busy bird. She was always watching him or walking past his desk to read over his shoulder.

Luckily, Draco was very good at pretending to do his work, just as he was very good at pretending Harry Potter's presence didn't faze him in the lift. He'd gotten so used to only seeing Harry when he interrupted his dreams at night, that finally seeing him in the flesh was quite a shock. Even after three years, the sight of the man still did things to him.

Somehow, he had gotten through the rest of the day. Perpetua had given him enough filing to distract him from his thoughts of Potter.

The work had been so intense that the sight of the small stack of letters that were waiting for him when he got home made him shiver with dislike.

Not being in the mood to organise any more paper, Draco discarded them on the coffee table next to the novels Pansy had bought him last night.

He was just about to pick up 'Bridget Jones' and start reading when the script on the top letter caught his eye.

_Mr Harry Potter_

_24 Darcy Street_

_London_

---

**Author's Notes: **Please review!


	2. Part Two

Thanks to Vittani, my wonderful beta, who always comes through for me when I need it most.

**Disclaimer: **

This story is loosely based on (admittedly two of the sappiest movies ever made) 'You've Got Mail' and 'The Lake House'. As well as my all time favourite books (other than the Harry Potter series, of course) 'Bridget Jones's Diary' and 'Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason', which were both based on Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' and 'Persuasion'.

This story also contains quotes and ideas from these movies and books.

You all know that I don't own the Harry Potter characters (JKR does). But if I did, something like this would happen to them...

---

Draco leapt backwards, hand to his mouth to stifle a gasp.

The apartment door flew open at that same instant and Pansy marched in, leaving it gaping behind her.

"Draco, I'm going to have to leave these at your place," she said, dumping a bag of cigarette packets over the coffee table and on top of the mail. "Daniel thinks I need to stop smoking. I told him I've given up. I know what you're going to say. 'He's been there five minutes and he's already telling you what to do', but…"

Pansy continued to rant, but Draco wasn't listening to her. He couldn't hear anything but the stagnant air of his – _Harry's_ – apartment breathing and sighing in his ears.

He rushed over to the rubbish bin pulling out the old pizza box and other bits of paper until he found what he was searching for. He needed to know that what he had seen wasn't only a trick of the light or something conjured out of his own imagination.

"…So now I can only smoke at your place." Pansy was saying, reaching for one of the cigarette packets and stopping short as she too noticed the writing on the letter. "Draco, why is there a letter addressed to Harry Potter on your coffee table?"

Draco looked up at her from re-reading the _Dear New Tenant_ letter, his face squeezed tight with desperation.

"What's the matter with you?" she asked, snatching the letter out of his trembling hands.

"Dear New Tenant…" Pansy mouthed the words as she read them, with the intense concentration of someone who didn't read much.

Pansy finished reading and after a second's loaded silence she looked up at Draco and said, "Shall we open it?"

Draco swallowed thickly and nodded. He picked the piece of mail up and stared blankly at it for a moment before shoving it into Pansy's hands.

She gave it back, giggling. He gave it back to her again.

"Fine. Be a wimp. I'll open it." Pansy rolled her eyes at him, ripping open the envelope unceremoniously.

It wasn't a letter, but a magazine. A subscription that came in the mail.

Pansy smirked. "Harry Potter's?" she said, looking very much like she was fighting the urge to laugh. "Are you sure it isn't _yours_?"

She flipped the magazine over to reveal an image of a half-naked man and the title of a popular Muggle gay magazine, which he immediately recognised, as he himself had perused it on a couple of occasions.

Draco let out a high pitched noise. It wasn't as provocative as _Wizards and their Wands_, but the fact that it belonged to Harry Potter set his heart racing and blood pumping to his groin faster than any adult magazine ever could.

"I need a drink."

"Draco, you're living in Harry Potter's old apartment. You're receiving his Muggle mail. Are you just going to stare vacantly at it or are you going to do something about it?" Pansy demanded, puncturing her last words by hitting him across the shoulder's with the magazine.

"Do something?" Draco squeaked, his hands fumbling to open a bottle of wine. "What do you suggest I do?"

"Write him a letter. Send him the magazine. You have his PO Box and he asked you to forward his mail."

"A letter? What could I possibly say to him?" Draco didn't even bother to pour himself a glass. He drank a large gulp of wine straight from the bottle.

Pansy's smirk returned. "How about 'I want to do to you what they're doing on page 69'."

Draco choked on his mouthful. "Not - helping," he choked out in between his spluttering.

"Well, it's true." Pansy shrugged, pulling the bottle of his hands. "Whoa. Slow down there."

"I need it." Draco whined, trying to get the bottle back.

"Who's Bridget Jones now?" Pansy teased, taking a swig from the bottle herself.

"I am Bridget Jones." Draco groaned, collapsing on the sofa. "I'm Bridget Jones when she found out that Mark Darcy was only wearing the diamond patterned-sweater because Una Alconbury gave it to him for Christmas."

"What are you talking about? You sound drunk already."

"It didn't matter to Bridget that Mark wasn't interested in her at the Turkey Curry Buffet because she thought that he was a real geek, but when she found out that he was really a very sexy, top human-rights lawyer…"

"Wait a minute. Are you saying you thought that Harry Potter didn't return your feelings because he was straight?"

"Yes," Draco said feebly. "And it was so much easier to deal with that way."

"That is such crap. Did you ever think that maybe it was because you were such a prick to him at school? And that maybe, just maybe, you might be able to rectify all of your wrong doings by doing something about _this_," Pansy said, throwing the magazine at him, as if that settled their conversation.

Draco blinked up at her a couple of times before reaching for the wine again. "Please give me another drink," was all he could say to her.

---

Draco opened his eyes.

White light poured in through the open windows, filling the apartment until the air seemed almost solid with floating particles of dust.

It wasn't the sunshine that had woken him, however, but the pounding of his head.

"I'm never drinking again," he groaned, slowly pulling himself off the couch.

He heard Pansy snort from the kitchen. "I'll believe that when I see it, Miss Jones."

"Fuck off," Draco returned, standing up and rubbing his eyes, trying to make them focus.

The lounge was a mess. Wine bottles, boxes and books almost completely covered the floor. The only bare surface was the coffee table.

Waves of panic heaved beneath Draco's chest. "Pansy?"

"Yeah." She appeared from the kitchen carrying a glass of water.

"Where's Harry's mail?"

"Here." Pansy ignored his question and held out the glass of water. "Drink this."

"Where's the magazine, Pansy?"

Pansy sighed and placed the glass down. "I mailed it to Potter."

"What?!" Draco exploded.

"I needed to do it because I knew that you wouldn't. This is your chance to establish a connection with Potter. Get a second chance with him even."

"A chance which you blew by sending him mail that had clearly been opened!" Draco yelled, the volume of his voice causing him to cringe and collapse back onto the couch, holding his aching head. "Why am I friends with you? Why?"

"Because I tell you the truth," she said, picking up the glass of water and pressing it into his hands. "I needed to do that for you otherwise you would spend the rest of your life a desperate, sexually inactive wine-bag wasting every Saturday night at home reading Jane Austen and obsessing over Potter and his dirty magazine."

"I hate you," Draco said, before accepting the water and drinking it as quickly as he had drunk the wine. "I hate you as much as Harry Potter hates me."

---

Harry was having a crap day. He had spent the entire morning and early afternoon on a raid and now had paperwork piled to his cubicle ceiling. Not to mention, his Muggle mail had been opened by the person who had forwarded it.

He had no privacy, no time for himself and in his fury after collecting his mail after work he had set Mrs Black's portrait off for most of the night.

"How are you holding up?" It was Kingsley Shaklebolt, coming in to check on him.

"Super, thanks," Harry replied sarcastically.

Kingsley looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before moving a stack of folders off one of the spare chairs and sitting down.

"Harry, I'm going to tell you what I tell every young Auror. Hopefully, you'll be the first to listen."

Harry placed his quill down at that, looking at Kingsley expectantly, doubtfully.

"On your time off, get as far away from this place as you can. Go someplace where you feel most like yourself."

"I would," he said frigidly. "Except you and Hermione took it away from me."

"Isn't there somewhere else?"

That evening Harry found himself standing inside of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

It was the same as always. Boxes of Skiving Snackboxes piled to the ceiling and the shelves stacked with all the usual merchandise.

George had been on what he called 'joker's block' ever since Fred had died, but the old stock was still as popular as ever and the shop continued to get good business. It was empty now, though, like the rest of Diagon Alley in the late evening.

"Hi Harry!" Christina, George's assistant, called from behind the counter. "If you're here to help out, you're a bit late. We're about to close."

"That's okay," Harry replied. "I just came by to talk to George."

"He's out back. I'll go get him for you."

"Thanks," Harry said, idly beginning to peruse the shelves.

Passing the Wildfire Wiz-Bangs and Fainting Fancies his mouth curved in a small smile, as he remembered Fred and George quitting school in front of all of Hogwarts and Dolores Umbridge and flying off into the sunset.

"What will it be for the rising young Auror?" said a voice behind him. "A Decoy Detonator? A Shield Hat perhaps?"

Harry turned around. "Just a Canary Cream and a couple of Extendable Ears, thanks." he said to George, still smiling.

"Are you sure? From what I hear you're in real danger, what with being the Ministry's finest and all."

Harry frowned at the mention of The Ministry. "On second thought, give me a Fainting Fancy, so I can get out of work tomorrow."

"I knew you didn't need any more Extendable Ears. You've just come here to get away from that awful job of yours."

"One more day like today and I might just do a Weasley."

"Well, a lot can be said for jumping on a broom and leaving a place. You should try it sometime."

"You were lucky. You had the joke shop. You had somewhere to go after leaving Hogwarts. Where can I go after The Ministry? Nowhere."

"You have here. You can quit your job and work here with me."

"If only it were that simple."

"It is simple. Your job is hell and I'll need to hire another person when Christina goes back to Hogwarts next month. Besides, this place is practically yours. You paid for it. There'd be no shop without you."

"You did all the work."

"I could still use your help. Promise me you'll at least think about it."

"Alright."

---

"Draco! What's wrong? I came as soon as I got your message!" Pansy always burst in so suddenly. Draco was seriously regretting his decision to give her the second set of keys to the flat.

He didn't say anything. He just pointed to the opened letter that he had placed on the coffee table.

"What is it?"

"Harry wrote The New Tenant a letter. A very angry letter for opening his mail."

Pansy picked it up and began to read it. "Oh my, who ever knew that Harry Potter had such a colourful vocabulary?"

"This is all your fault. I knew that--" Draco started to accuse, but Pansy cut him off.

"Oh, hush, Draco. It's not all bad. It's not like he knows it was you or anything."

"It is bad." Draco snapped, snatching the letter and reading the last sentence out loud. "'While I appreciate you forwarding my mail, please do not violate my privacy again.' He's pissed. He hates me. He hates me, Draco Malfoy, and me, The New Tenant."

Pansy wasn't paying attention to him. She was rummaging around for some paper on the floor.

"What are you doing?" he asked as she began to scribble some words down.

Draco read them from over her shoulder.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_I'm sorry for opening your mail._

_I know that it doesn't excuse what I did, but I had been drinking the night I received the mail. Please forgive me._

_Sincerely sorry,_

_The New Tenant_

"What good is that going to do?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Just send it." Pansy instructed, handing him the piece of paper and an envelope. "Call me when you get a response."

"You'll never get a call from me ever again then."

Two days later Draco was reluctantly ringing Pansy's number.

"I knew the apology would work!" Pansy squealed down the phone. "What does it say?"

Draco recited:

_Dear New Tenant,_

_Apology accepted. I have a very short temper and I know that you shouldn't write a letter when angry, but having my private mail opened was the last straw of a very horrible day. _

_I would have suggested a big, hot cup of coffee for the hangover that you undoubtedly had. It's what gets me through when things are rough. _

_Hoping you are well,_

_Harry_

Pansy then had Draco writing on another piece of paper as she dictated to him what his reply should say.

They ended the call and Draco was about to re-write his response more neatly when he suddenly got an idea of his own.

---

Draco approached Harry's cubicle carefully.

Even though his back was to him, every line of Harry's body indicated disconnection, distance, distraction. He was staring un-fixedly at a file on his desk and his head and shoulders drooped.

Draco considered. He wanted to find a way to talk to Harry, not just because he fancied him like mad, but because Harry was so miserable. Therefore he must say something appropriate, find a way to ingratiate himself.

A shadow of thought passed through his head – an acknowledgement that he was quite out of practice at making himself agreeable, especially when it came to Harry Potter.

"Rough day, Potter?" Was all he said in the end.

Harry didn't move. "Piss off, Malfoy."

"Just doing my job, Potter." Draco sighed. He placed more paperwork on his desk, along with a cup of coffee.

Harry's head snapped up at the small clinking sound it made. "That's a cup of coffee."

"Still displaying your useless ability to point out the bleeding obvious, I see. Old habits die hard, I guess." Draco drawled, mentally slapping himself. Old habits did indeed die hard. He had gotten so used to insulting Harry; it was clearly going to be a hard thing to stop, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Apparently, Harry was still used to the insults as well. He seemed to have ignored Draco's remark completely. "Why are you bringing me coffee?"

Draco's eyes met Harry's. He smirked, a customary, scathing retort on the tip of his tongue, and then he thought better of it.

"It's my job, like I said." At least he could still lie well. That was a habit he wasn't going to give up anytime soon.

"It's your job to bring me coffee?"

"Not just you, Potter. All Aurors need something to keep them awake while they do their paperwork."

Another perfectly executed lie. He certainly wouldn't be serving all of the Aurors coffee like some common house-elf.

"It's your job?" Harry repeated.

"Yes, did I not just say--"

"What the bloody hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" Ron appeared in the doorway, confused and red-faced.

"Don't tell me I have to explain it to both of you." Draco drawled. "I'll be here all afternoon."

"Let me guess, you got arrested." Ron snarled.

Draco hooted with fake laughter. "No, Weasley. I work here. Now if you'll excuse me, I better get back to it."

Draco left Harry's cubicle, leaving Harry and Ron scowling at him in the same way.

"He works here," Harry affirmed unenthusiastically, at Ron's look of disbelief.

"He's not a--"

"No, he's the secretary's assistant."

"Serves the git right. All those times he made fun of Dad's job. We should go rub it in his face."

"He's not worth it. Besides, I've got too much paperwork to do."

"But it's lunchtime."

"I know, but if I don't get started on this now I might not finish it and I don't want to have to stay back late again."

"Alright then. Want me to get you some coffee to help you get through it all?"

"Thanks, but Malfoy already got me some." Harry indicated to the untouched cup of coffee.

"It's Malfoy's job to bring you coffee?" Ron gawped, his expression a mixture of shock and delight.

Harry nodded.

"Oh, mate! We _have_ to rub it in his face now."

"Maybe some other time."

"Okay," Ron sighed. "I'll leave you to it."

"See you later," Harry said, watching him leave.

"You did check that that coffee wasn't poisoned before you drank it didn't you?" Ron popped his head hack into the cubicle.

"Bye, Ron," Harry said dismissively.

"Alight, mate. See you later then."

Harry checked that Ron had left for good this time before pulling two letters out of his robe pocket.

He had stopped by his PO Box on his way to work this morning and found another letter from The New Tenant waiting for him. The second letter was from George Weasley. He had sent Harry an owl earlier in the day.

Harry was glad to finally have some time to be alone and read them.

George's was just a small note attached to a box of Fainting Fancies that read:

_In case you feel like taking a break._

Harry laughed before placing it back inside his pocket.

The other letter read:

_Dear Harry,_

_I feel terrible for contributing to your awful day. I too had had a bad day that day, hence the reason for drinking so much. _

_Though, I have to say that your magazine cheered me up quite a bit. _

_I'm sorry if I sound too brash. Maybe we should introduce ourselves properly._

_Sincerely,_

_In the meantime mysteriously still: The New Tenant_

Harry couldn't help but smile. He pushed his paperwork to the side and began to write a reply.

---

Harry's next reply arrived almost by return of post. Draco found it waiting for him one afternoon when he came home from work.

Wanting to exercise at least a little Self-control, he left the white envelope on the table while he switched on the TV, fixed himself a sandwich, and sat down in front of it with his plate and a glass of water.

He ate half of the cottage cheese on rye before replacing the bitten chunk squarely on the plate. Then he took his knife and deliberately licked it clean before slitting open the envelope.

Draco read the letter slowly, taking in each word.

_Okay, my mystery correspondent, my name is Harry and I am twenty years old. _

_I work in law-enforcement, a job where I am constantly at risk (according to my friends at least). I didn't want to move out of the apartment, but after a lot of nagging and persuading done on my friends' part, I moved into a safe-house, so to speak. They'd kill me if they found out I was writing letters to a stranger. _

_I hate it here in my new place. It makes me feel like I'm invisible, as if no one can see me at all. I never felt that way when I lived on Darcy Street. Its paper walls were more secure to me than the stone ones that surround me now._

_What about you? You never mentioned your name._

Draco folded the letter carefully and put it next to his plate. He rested his hands on the table, palms down, and waited for the rush of feelings to subside.

The words had been moving, perhaps because they had omitted so much more than they stated.

It wasn't the words that disturbed him, it was the letter itself. It was a version of a life, he thought, and of a person that he had never heard before. He had gotten more out of Harry Potter in ten sentences than after ten years of knowing him.

He picked the letter up and read it again, although the words were already etched in his mind.

Draco switched off the TV and got up from the table to find some writing paper and a pen, pushing his chair so that it scraped noisily. The phone rang moments later.

He listened to Pansy leave a message on the machine, not wanting to break his concentration by answering her call. He wanted to write the reply to Harry on his own this time.

With silence for company again, he returned to the table and began his response.

_Dear Harry,_

_No, I didn't mention my name and I'd prefer not to, if you don't mind. It's only fair. You know my address after all. I think that's enough for now. _

_Besides, I think a little mystery can be exiting. You'll have to forgive me; my life tends to get a bit boring. _

_I work in an office. I'm nothing important. I file paper and make coffee. I'm invisible too._

_While I wouldn't say my current employment is ideal, it allows me to be here, in this place, and that's enough for now._

_I like living on Darcy Street because it gives me hope. Brings me closer to somebody I never thought would look at me ever again. But I shouldn't be talking about that with you. _

_Tell me about the things you like._

_Sincerely,_

_For now you can call me: A friend_

---

**Author's Notes: **Please review!


	3. Part Three

Thanks to Vittani, my wonderful beta, who always comes through for me when I need it most.

**Disclaimer:**

This story is loosely based on (admittedly two of the sappiest movies ever made) 'You've Got Mail' and 'The Lake House'. As well as my all time favourite books (other than the Harry Potter series, of course) 'Bridget Jones's Diary' and 'Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason', which were both based on Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' and 'Persuasion'.

This story also contains quotes and ideas from these movies and books.

You all know that I don't own the Harry Potter characters (JKR does). But if I did, something like this would happen to them...

--

Draco followed the stony path down the side of the apartment building, stopping when he came to the fence painted in faded blue that kept the garden out of view from passers-by.

Orange, scarlet and ginger flowers growing on the other side spilled over the fence, making a little oasis of brilliance.

The gate creaked as he pushed it open.

Draco stepped inside and drew in a breath.

After being cooped up inside the Ministry all day, it felt like walking out of a dark cellar and stepping into paradise.

The sun just rested on the horizon. It was a perfect orb of brilliant flame-orange, except for the faintest flattening at its lowest margin.

The air was magically still. The unearthly beauty of the garden struck a shaft straight into his heart.

He stood looking out onto the garden. His mind was empty, all the questions and doubts that nagged him soothed away by the wonder of the scenery and by the afternoon sunset. He knew for certain that this was a remarkable place.

It was a temple, he thought, with the endless streams of flowers and with nature's flawless architecture to contain its spirit.

It was Harry's.

He glanced down at his watch, noticing how the evening sun turned the hairs on his arms to threads of gold. It was five o'clock exactly.

He couldn't hear Mr McAlister's bagpipes at all. He suspected that Harry may have cast a permanent silencing charm on the garden.

"Not bad, Harry," he murmured. "Not bad at all."

He noticed a big evergreen tree with a dilapidated hammock slung from the branches in the corner and made his way over to it, a coiled up hosepipe made him stop short for a second with its resemblance to a snake.

He clambered up onto the faded material, sinking into the hammock awkwardly, adjusting his body as it lurched from side to side due to his weight.

Once the hammock was still again, he pulled Harry's latest letter out of his pocket and began to re-read it for the second time.

_Dear friend, _

_I like treacle tart and as you know drinking coffee._

_I like visiting my friend who owns a shop in the city. It's always busy and filled with children and sometimes I get behind the register and help out a bit._

_But most of all I like the garden downstairs at Darcy Street. I like everything there. How you can smell the flowers before you open the gate and see them. How you can't see anything beyond the garden fence except for the sky. And it's also the perfect place to go to avoid the Mr McAlister hour._

_Your turn. Favourite things?_

Draco smiled, folded the letter and placed it in his pocket. He pulled out a pen and a blank sheet of paper and began to write his response.

_Dear Harry,_

_I like to read books. My best friend works at a book store and she is always bringing me things to read. _

_I like Jane Austen books a lot. My favourite is Persuasion._

_It's about waiting. It's about these two people who meet. They almost fall in love, but the timing isn't right and they have to part._

_Years later, they meet again and get another chance. Things are complicated though. They don't know if too much time has passed, if they waited too long, if it's too late to make it work.___

_It's my favourite book, but my absolute most favourite thing, I only discovered today. _

_I like coming home and finding a letter from you. I like sitting in your garden, most likely in the same place where you often sat, and reading what you have to say. _

_I'm sitting in the garden right now as I write this to you, in the hammock suspended by the big, green tree in the corner._

_The sun is setting, turning everything golden. I can see every illuminated detail, every leaf and every flower in the place that you love._

_It is beautiful. Everything you made it out to be._

_Thank you for showing it to me._

_Well, I think that's all of my favourite things. What about you? You didn't forget to mention your boyfriend or anything did you?_

--

Harry walked the halls of the Ministry to his office, along a route so familiar to him now all the features of it had been smoothed away.

A fellow Auror passed him. He merely grunted in acknowledgement and then his face suddenly tipped into a sudden wry smile. It wasn't the Ministry that was insufferable and tedious, but himself.

'Am I so dull?' he wondered. 'To have spent so much of my life in one place and to have ended up disappointed in it, as well as in myself?'

He quickly dismissed the question, and the future, and the faint but persistent loneliness that lived inside him like a disease, and tried to be positive.

This day had to end soon and when it did he might have something to look forward to. The next magazine instalment was due any day now and that meant another letter from Austen.

Harry had given his mysterious pen friend the name Austen in reference to the book he had mentioned. Harry needed some sort of name to give the face he had imagined in his head everyday for the past few weeks.

Their writing had become quite flirtatious recently. Harry's smile turned genuine as he recalled the suggestive words.

_Well, of course, I love my boyfriend. He's blond and perfect. Everything I could ever want in a man._

_**Good. I have a boyfriend too. Dark hair. Cute arse. Gorgeous.**_

_I was kidding. I'm single._

_**Good. Me too. I'm also blond. ;-)**_

"You're in a good mood."

Harry jumped a little as his daydream was cut short. Hermione was waiting for him in his cubicle.

"Or not." She commented, as Harry's face fell back into his customary frown. "You seem darn right unhappy, actually."

"No. Just busy. Too much crime, which leads to too much paperwork." He picked up one of the large piles to make room for Hermione to sit down. She perched herself in the tiny space made available on his desk.

"Is there anything else?" She pressed.

Harry sighed. She was frowning at him. She needed more of an answer. "I miss working in my garden. It's beautiful this time of year."

Hermione's frown darkened. It was clear what she was thinking. 'Harry needs to get a hold on his life'.

"All on your own, with soil and flowerpots and roots and muck?"

"Compost." Harry corrected.

"The Dursleys used to make you garden." Hermione said, meaning, 'You should hate it'.

"I like my garden. It's peaceful."

Hermione changed tact. "I'm having a few people around for dinner tomorrow night. Sort of a house warming thing. You will be coming, won't you?"

Harry sighed again. It was the fifth time she had mentioned it. Ron had even mentioned it on one occasion too. George had heard about it early and organised a sale at the Joke Shop to use work as an excuse not to attend. Harry had quickly offered to help.

"I promised George I'd help him and Christina out."

"I wish you'd come." Hermione continued. "Giles Benwick from my work is coming. He's a really great guy and he can't wait to meet you. I can't help thinking, you know."

"Hermione, I know what you want. You want me to be happy and with someone and doing and feeling the same things as you. But our love lives have always been different, why should they start to be the same now?"

"I don't want you to be alone."

"I'm not alone. Completely."

"That's right. You'll always have Ron and I. We're officially moved in now. I just finished unpacking the last of the boxes this morning. We're only a few streets away."

A few rooms away, Draco's mind was on Harry's love life as well.

They were falling back into old patterns, Draco thought. With a few new interesting variations. They weren't fighting as much, or certainly not in the same way.

"_Afternoon, Potter."_

"_Malfoy."_

"_Why is it that your office is always a mess?" _

"_Why is it that I always want to punch you in the face?"_

"_I find that hard to believe, seeing as you never actually look at me properly."_

"_I have to finish this paperwork."_

"_I have to finish the filing."_

For some reason one or both of them seemed to ease back before it got ugly. That restraint, he supposed, added a sort of appealing tension to the whole thing.

Draco still wanted Harry that part of the pattern would never change. Even after the war, when Harry had been thousands of miles away from him in every possible way, Draco had wanted him.

Just to roll over in the night and have Harry's body bump against his instead of the usual emptiness. Draco ached for that, for Harry.

He hoped Harry had ached the same for him. He hoped Harry had cursed his name the way he had cursed his. And suffered. But deep down he knew that it was just wishful thinking.

When he felt the old resentment and anger begin to brew he shut it down. That was over, he reminded himself. That was done. Some things were better off left buried.

He ordered his mind clear so he could concentrate on the latest letter Harry had sent.

It was time to move forward. Make the next step. The next step that would bring him closer to Harry.

He placed the letter away from Perpetua's scrutinising gaze and began to write his reply.

_My dearest Harry Potter,_

_I want to give you something. The garden is important to you, so I want to give you something that is important to me._

_I choose Persuasion, my favourite book. If you have the time, read it. Keep hold of it. _

_One day, I hope, we will meet and we can talk about it in person. Until then you're garden is safe with me._

_Patiently waiting, _

_Your friend_

--

With Harry's help, preparing for the sale took just over an hour. Afterwards, Christina took Harry and George to a muggle coffee shop just outside of Diagon Alley. There was a blackboard at the entrance with the day's specials chalked on it and inside comfortable looking booths lined the walls.

They sat at one of them and Harry picked up a booklet that was placed on the table, expecting a menu.

"Iced tea for me, please. They have good jelly doughnuts," Christina advised.

"Just some coffee, thanks," Harry said, not taking his eyes away from the booklet that wasn't a menu after all.

"'Men for women, women for men, men for men, women for women'", he read. "What is this?"

"You fill out one of these forms and they file it in the big book at the counter. If someone wants to meet you, they arrange it." Christina explained.

"What a stupid way to meet someone." George said, taking the booklet from Harry and flipping through the pages. "Why do I get the feeling that you've filled one of these out?"

"I came in here one night, drank to much coffee and filled one out." Christina admitted. "Well, how else am I supposed to meet someone?" She snapped at the teasing look George gave her.

"Heaps of Hogwarts kids come into the shop on the holidays."

"None of them ever even look at me. Besides, I could never fall in love with someone whose idea of a romantic evening is to set off a heap of Wildfire Wiz-Bangs."

"Our customers would be a whole lot more normal than the creeps who fill this crap out."

"It's completely legitimate. I'll show you." Christina got up and retrieved the book from the counter. "See?"

"'I'm a tall, handsome, 27-year-old male. GSOH, WLTM civilised, attractive lady aged 25-30." George read out in a stupid voice.

"What's GSOH and WLTM?" Harry asked.

"Giant sore on head." George suggested. "Willy limp, thin mollusc."

"It means good sense of humour, would like to meet," Christina said, blowing angrily through the straw in her ice tea.

"I supposed you'd have to have a good sense of humour to be too stupid to spell the actual words," sniggered George.

"They're not all bad." Christina argued, snatching the book from George and turning over the next few pages. "Here. 'I'm tall and blonde. I have blue eyes and a lean, wild body'. He sounds rather nice." Christina finished brightly.

"Don't get too exited," said George. "He's in the men for men section."

"Damn." Christina only looked disappointed for a short moment. She grinned and pointedly looked at Harry. "Why don't you respond to him then?"

"No way," Harry said, the same time George cheered. "That's a great idea!"

"Oh, come on, Harry," Christina encouraged. "It'll be fun. Besides, how long has it been since you've been on a date?"

"Too long," answered George. "I think it's time you get back out there again, Harry. It's not every day you get a chance to write to some random stranger." He added and Harry laughed.

"That wasn't a joke," said George.

"I know."

"Then why did you laugh?"

"It's nothing. No reason."

"Then answer the ad," pressed George.

"No, I don't--"

"Why? Do you have a secret boyfriend?" Christina teased.

"…No. I--"

"You hesitated," commented George and Harry panicked.

This was turning into a very similar scenario he expected would have taking place if he had shown up at Hermione's dinner party. For the sake of saying something, deflecting their suggestion at all costs, he blurted out desperately. "There is someone. It's kind of a long distance relationship."

In an instant the book was dropped and forgotten. George and Christina leaned over the table eagerly.

"And you were letting us prattle on about setting you up? How did you meet?"

"We haven't."

"What?"

"No."

George and Christina looked at each other briefly before turning back to Harry. "We're just going to stare at you until you tell us."

Harry sighed. It might be good to talk about Austen with someone and get some things off his chest. "Okay. I'll go one better than that. I'll show you."

He withdrew Austen's last couple of letters from his coat pocket and handed them to his friends. He waited impatiently while they read through them.

"So, what do you think?"

"Sounds like a nice guy," Christina said.

"Sounds like a nice guy," Harry repeated impatiently. "Anything else?"

George smirked. "He has wonderful penmanship."

"George."

George waved off Harry's impatient stare. "How did this start?"

"He lives at my old apartment. He forwards my mail."

"I think it's terribly romantic." Christina sighed dreamily, stirring her straw into the mush of melting ice left at the bottom of her glass.

George nodded in agreement. "When are you going to meet him?"

"I don't know."

"You should meet him."

"But what if he turns out to be…well, like one of the creeps who filled out the forms in here?"

"So what?" dismissed George. "At least you'll know."

With the café's dating book still in sight, Harry dismissed their suggestion. But as soon as he stepped into the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place and felt its cold, empty air attack his skin he found himself grabbing the first quill he saw.

_Dear Friend,_

_We should meet, but why should we wait? _

_There's a restaurant a street away from the apartment. I used to eat there all the time. How does Thursday at eight sound?_

_Also impatiently waiting,_

_Harry_

--

Please forgive my lateness. I blame it this time on RL. I plan to have the next chapter up in two weeks. Until then I must get back to studying for my end of semester uni exams.

Please review! Cupcakes!

:-) Lucy


	4. Part Four

Thanks to Vittani, my wonderful beta.

**Disclaimer:**

This story is loosely based on (admittedly two of the sappiest movies ever made) 'You've Got Mail' and 'The Lake House'. As well as my all time favourite books (other than the Harry Potter series, of course) 'Bridget Jones's Diary' and 'Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason', which were both based on Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' and 'Persuasion'.

This story also contains quotes and ideas from these movies and books.

You all know that I don't own the Harry Potter characters (JKR does). But if I did, something like this would happen to them...

---

Draco let himself into his apartment, switching on the lights.

He glanced at the brown envelopes on the coffee table and passed on into the kitchen without picking them up. He could already tell that a letter from Harry wasn't among them.

Automatically he brushed a scatter of crumbs off the kitchen counter and dropped them in the sink. He put the butter dish back in the refrigerator, then slammed the door shut again so the rubber seal made its meaty reverse-kissing sound.

The living-room was still a mess, but warm because the heating had been turned on.

'That's odd,' Draco thought, taking a novel from his bookshelf, but not giving it any further thought.

He settled down on the sofa, opened his book, The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown, and began to read.

The villain was close, hiding in the bushes outside, and the two protagonists had no idea that they were being held at gunpoint. Draco read intently, unconsciously gripping the arm of the chair in fascination. All thoughts of his horrible day were slowly fading away. He quickly turned the page and read on.

The latch on the door leading out onto the back deck suddenly clicked and the door slid open. Draco jumped out of his seat.

Pansy stood in the doorway, stubbing out a cigarette, a folded piece of paper held in one hand.

"Pansy! What the fuck are you doing out there?!" Draco shouted, picking his novel up from the floor and throwing it onto the sofa.

"You said that I was only allowed to smoke out on the deck," she explained, sliding the door shut.

"I know I did! But what are you even doing here at all?"

"Daniel and I had a fight. I needed to get out of the apartment."

Draco rolled his eyes and flopped back onto the couch. "Just dump the loser already."

"I don't want to be single."

"There's always something better waiting around the corner," Draco said, rubbing his face in irritation.

"But if you're not careful you could spend the best years of your life waiting." Pansy sat down as well, eying Draco pointedly as she did so.

Pansy was so good at this. So good at turning whatever he threw at her back onto him. Draco wasn't going to let it happen this time.

"Don't look at me like that. I live in a matchbox, I have fifteen paper cuts on my hand from my dead end job and the man of my dreams hates my guts. These are not the best years of my life."

"They could be. If you'd just--"

"No. We are not going to do this. This is not about me. Tonight, it's about you. You're the one who showed up at my apartment. You're the one wasting the best years of your life crying over and fighting with that fuck-wit. Go home, throw him out and call me when you find someone who is actually worth your time."

Pansy didn't move and after a small silence she said, "We're just having a fight, Draco. It's what couples do."

Draco moved, leaning forward to sort through the pile of envelopes. "Not every week, they don't."

"I love him."

"Why?" Draco asked, pausing for a moment, as he organised the first lot of bills into a small pile.

"I don't know why. I just do. Why do you love Potter?"

Draco threw the last of the envelopes down, making the arrangement he had just made pointless. "Don't know. Just do."

Pansy looked at him thoughtfully. "I'll open a bottle of wine," she said before disappearing into the kitchen.

"He won't even fight with me anymore." Draco had said it more to himself than to Pansy, but she answered as she returned with a bottle and two glasses.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Couples are supposed to fight. You said." Draco took the glass Pansy handed to him and waited as she filled it all the way to the top.

"You're not a couple yet," Pansy said, placing the wine bottle and the piece of paper she had been holding down and taking a small sip of her wine.

Draco followed her movements. "What's that?"

"Potter's last letter."

"What?!" Draco exploded, a few drops of his wine splashing onto the carpet.

"You weren't home yet and I couldn't wait."

"That letter is personal!"

"If it weren't for me you wouldn't be sending letters to Potter at all. Besides, this one is of upmost importance. My help is most definitely needed."

"Why?"

"See for yourself."

She handed the letter to him and Draco took a large gulp of wine before folding it open. Pansy, anticipating his reaction, then removed his glass from his hand. He scowled at her briefly before turning his attention to the letter.

"What am I going to wear?" Draco cried, after he had finished reading, making his way to his wardrobe.

Pansy pulled him back. "Draco. Stop. You can't reveal your identity yet! It's way too early!"

"I know, but he asked to meet me! What else am I supposed to do? He might get offended if I say no."

"Alright, just calm down. I've been thinking and this could turn out to be a good thing."

"How could this situation possibly be construed as good? When he finds out who I am he's going to punch me and then we'll really be fighting again."

"Draco, listen to me. You can go on this date with Potter and still keep the identity of the New Tenant a mystery."

"What do you mean? Of course I can't."

"Yes, you can," Pansy said, smiling brightly.

"Pansy, tell me right now, what are you thinking?"

Pansy's smile turned into a wide grin. "I'm thinking that you should wear your long-sleeved black sweater with a pair of jeans."

---

"The green. Definitely the green," Christina said, holding a shirt up against Harry's chest. "It brings out the colour in your eyes."

"Where are you meeting him?" George asked, sitting on Harry's bed amongst the piles of clothes they had been contemplating for Harry's date later in the evening.

"That place near my old apartment with the really good cheesecake."

"And that really cute waitress," George added.

"How romantic!" Christina gushed. "You should try and get one of those booths in the corner so you have lots of privacy. Get the waiter to light some candles. Play some classical music."

"And to make it even more cliché you should carry a copy of Anna Karenina with a rose in it and get your date to wear a flower on his lapel," George laughed.

Harry blushed and busied himself with hanging his shirt back on its hanger.

"Oh no," said George, his laughter fading.

"Not Anna Karenina," Harry admitted. "Persuasion."

"What?"

"It's the Jane Austen novel he lent me."

"Oh and that's so much different," George said sarcastically.

Harry shrugged. "We needed a way to recognise each other."

"Cliché or not, I still think it's romantic," Christina sighed. "Have you told Hermione about this?"

Harry shrugged again. "There's nothing to tell."

"But did you tell her?"

"She's busy with work and the new apartment."

"And they're both places that can't be reached by owls?"

"No. I just already know what she'll say."

George put on a high pitched voice, doing an over-exaggerated impersonation of Hermione. "_Don't go anywhere with him. Don't even go out to the street with him afterwards. Dial a cab and get it to just sit there and wait for you_."

"Exactly," Harry agreed.

"Whereas we tell you the exact opposite," said George. "Jump him!"

"Shag him senseless!" Christina added, nodding enthusiastically. "And send me an owl afterwards. I want to hear all of the details."

---

In the restaurant, waiting for Austen, Harry arranged his cutlery so that the pieces lay perfectly parallel and with the tails exactly half an inch from the table edge. The napkin's white cone stood in the centre of the rectangle created by the knife and fork, and the lights above him were reflecting in a starry prism from the blade of his knife.

He picked up Persuasion, for about the sixth time in the past two minutes, and adjusted the red rose held in between the pages. He placed the book carefully back on the table and looked around.

'What are you doing? Meeting a stranger without any protection?'

Harry shuddered. Was he becoming paranoid already?

He had been thinking about Mad-Eye Moody and the voice in his head was his. Mad-Eye had been overly strict about safety measures. Suddenly Harry felt him as close as if he were sitting in the opposite chair. Then he looked up and saw Draco Malfoy.

Harry blinked. That couldn't be Malfoy. For one thing the man was wearing Muggle clothes; they were in a Muggle restaurant after all.

No, it definitely wasn't Malfoy.

This man was tall and blond and…making his way towards Harry's table.

Harry's breath hitched. This was it. Harry could hear his heart pounding in his head as the man who had written the letters approached his table. He was here and he was perfect.

"Hello, Potter. Mind if I sit down?"

Harry's heart sank. It was Malfoy after all.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"Five o'clock is never a good time for me. I have to get out of the house," Malfoy said, taking the seat opposite Harry without hesitation.

"You can't sit here. I'm expecting someone," Harry objected.

Malfoy ignored him. He leaned forward and picked up Persuasion, turning it over in his hands. "Persuasion," he said slowly, thoughtfully.

"Give that back!" Harry made a snatch for it. The table rocked slightly.

Malfoy didn't even flinch. "Your date has good taste in literature, I'll give him that." He slid the book back across the table.

Harry didn't even notice. He stared at Malfoy in surprise, mouth slightly agape. "You've read Persuasion?"

"I just said it was good, didn't I?"

"You are aware it was written by a Muggle?" Harry continued to gape.

"I am aware it is a Muggle book, yes," Malfoy said, holding up a hand. "And before you ask, I am also aware that this is a Muggle restaurant."

When Harry's expression didn't change he continued, "Don't look so surprised, Potter. You knew that I've been living in Muggle London for the past couple of years."

Harry found his voice again and scowled at Malfoy. "No, I've been living in Muggle London. You've been hiding in it."

"I wouldn't necessarily call it hiding."

"Well, you living in Muggle London, I can believe. It's just the concept of you immersing yourself in Muggle culture that I have trouble grasping."

"I assure you I have read Persuasion, several times, in fact."

"Well, good for you."

"I think you'd discover a lot of things if you really knew me."

"Of course, I bet you just love Anne Elliot and that your sentimental heart beats wildly at the thought that she and whatever his name is are really, honestly and truly going to end up together," Harry spat sarcastically. "If you had a heart, that is."

"Captain Wentworth."

"What?"

"The character in the book, his name is Captain Frederick Wentworth," Malfoy said. "I don't want you embarrassing yourself in front of your friend by not knowing the book properly," he explained when Harry looked at him strangely.

The waitress suddenly appeared at their table. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"I'll just have a glass of the house wine, thanks," Malfoy said.

Harry scowled. "No, he won't," he said. "I'm waiting for someone else."

"Make that two glasses," Malfoy said, voice alluring and face twisting into a perfect smile. Harry knew this procedure all to well. Malfoy did it whenever he wanted something and he always got it. He wasn't sure, but it looked like Malfoy had also smoothly handed her a tip.

"Sure." She sounded as surprised as Harry was. She walked away happily, sliding the crisp note discreetly into her pocket.

"You haven't changed at all". Harry glared across the table.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, feigning innocence.

"You know exactly what I mean. You still bribe people to get your own way."

Malfoy smirked at him. "But I'm getting my own way right now without bribing you. I'm still sitting here, despite your wishes."

The waitress reappeared, before Harry could reply, with the drinks and a bowl of bread sticks. "Are you ready to order?" she asked.

"No," Harry repeated through gritted teeth. "I'm waiting for someone else."

"Nothing for me either," said Malfoy happily, not taking his eyes off Harry.

"Would you please leave?" Harry asked after the waitress had left. He had to hold on to the leg of the table to stop his hand from shaking in frustration.

"I'll get up as soon as your friend comes. Is he late?"

"Why are you assuming it's a man I'm meeting?"

"Because you keep looking up whenever a man walks through the door," Draco explained. "And because it's usually the woman who waits for the man with a copy of a Jane Austen book with a flower in it."

Harry glowered at him, but Malfoy continued to talk. "Oh yes, I've been immersing myself in a lot more Muggle culture than you realise."

Malfoy reached across the table again and carefully removed the rose from the book's pages. "I'm particularly familiar with their post office system. Don't get me wrong, posting a letter isn't nearly as convenient as sending an owl, but at least the postman doesn't peck at you and hassle you for treats," he said, slowly twirling the flower with his long fingers and softly stroking its petals.

Harry didn't appear to be paying attention. He half rose out of his seat and tried to snatch the rose out of Malfoy's hand. "Give it to me."

He was about to stand up when another man entered through the restaurant doors. Harry looked up hopefully, but frowned when the man turned out to have brown hair and seated himself down at a table that was already occupied by a large group of people.

"I am going to take a wild guess that that wasn't him either," Malfoy said, having followed Harry's daze to the table. "Who is he, I wonder. Will you be rude to him too? He is late after all."

"No, I won't, because the man who's coming here tonight is completely unlike you. The man who is coming here is kind and funny. He--"

"He's not here."

"If he's not here, he has a reason, because there is not a cruel or careless bone in his body. I can't expect you to know anything about a person like that. You're nothing but a--"

"You're right, Potter. It's time for me to leave." Draco said, interrupting Harry and standing up.

He retrieved more money from his pocket and placed it on the table next to Harry's untouched glass.

"This should cover the drinks. Don't worry about the change."

He picked up this own glass and quickly drank the last of his wine.

"Have a nice evening."

He then left the restaurant with exactly what he wanted; Harry Potter staring after him.

---

Please review! :-) Lucy


	5. Part Five

Thanks to Vittani, my wonderful beta, who always comes through for me when I need it most.

**Disclaimer: **

This story is loosely based on (admittedly two of the sappiest movies ever made) 'You've Got Mail' and 'The Lake House'. As well as my all time favourite books (other than the Harry Potter series, of course) 'Bridget Jones's Diary' and 'Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason', which were both based on Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' and 'Persuasion'.

This story also contains quotes and ideas from these movies and books.

You all know that I don't own the Harry Potter characters (JKR does). But if I did, something like this would happen to them...

---

Harry's body ached. He had been awake all night.

Each time he thought himself drained, body and mind, he'd close his eyes only to have them snap open again moments later.

Confusion had flooded through him and with it the unrelenting demands of anger.

He wrote several versions of a letter to Austen in fury, demanding where he was and why he didn't show up.

As the night wore on his rage slowly diminished and was replaced by an aching loneliness. The pain started in his stomach and spread.

After Malfoy finally left, he had waited in the restaurant alone. Austen never came.

It was the pattern of his life, he decided. Whoever he cared for, whoever he gave love to, always went their own way. Yet somehow, he still expected different.

He wondered whether it was his own fault. Perhaps Austen had arrived at the restaurant, taken one look at Harry's unruly hair and dorky glasses and quickly left in disgust.

But that didn't seem like Austen.

In the early hours of the morning, as the rosy tones of sunshine slowly slipped into his bedroom, he wrote the final copy of his letter.

_My dear friend, _

_I have been thinking about you. Last night I went to meet you and you weren't there. I felt so foolish. I hope you have a good reason for not being there. _

_Please write to me,_

_Harry_

After he had finished, there was still something bothering him.

Draco Malfoy.

Harry sighed in frustration. It had been a typical Malfoy encounter in the restaurant.

Suddenly and without warning he had been there, ready to annoy and provoke him. He had pushed Harry to his limits once again with his harsh words and cryptic retorts. It was like he knew something Harry didn't know.

Malfoy loved teasing Harry like that. Ever since they began at Hogwarts Malfoy had taken great pleasure in having information that others didn't. It gave him even more power.

Now that the war and the Malfoy family authority were long gone, Harry supposed Draco was still tormenting him in the same way in a futile attempt to reclaim some of his old power.

Perhaps he knew something about the Ministry Harry didn't. Or perhaps he knew where some of the wanted Death Eaters were hiding. Whatever it was, Harry didn't care.

Nothing ever changes. Harry is strong. Harry is practical. Harry doesn't need all the things other people do. Hugs, gentleness, romance. And if he didn't need those, then he certainly didn't need the small pieces of information that Malfoy had. He always did things on his own and he was always successful.

He didn't let Malfoy take pleasure in teasing him at Hogwarts, so he certainly wasn't going to let it happen now.

As Harry dressed for work, he was perfectly calm. Dreams were for sleeping, and right now he was, physically and mentally, wide awake.

There were dozens of things to do. He had criminals to catch and Finch to deal with.

With another sigh of exasperation, he pushed Malfoy and the restaurant to the back of his mind and hurried to the Ministry.

---

"You're here early." Draco entered Harry's cubicle and started to cross to him.

Harry didn't turn around. He kept his back to him. The look of it stopped Draco. Angry hurt – he could feel waves of it.

"Yes, I'm here," Harry said easily and continued to write in the file he had been working on. "I've been awake for some time. Finch is here early too. He wants another progress report."

"Oh?" Harry's emotions weren't directed toward Finch, Draco decided, watching him steadily. "Have you had any coffee?"

"No."

"You'll want some," Draco said, taking another step towards him. He went no further, feeling the wall Harry had thrown up between them. It was familiar, but it still frustrated him all the same.

"No, actually, I don't." Harry dipped his quill in some ink and continued to write with great care. "I'll get some coffee before the raid."

"The raid?" Draco repeated, matching Harry's tone.

"I think I've got a fairly good lead on were one of the last Death Eaters is hiding." Harry kept his eyes focused on his file. "I'll get the team ready soon."

The cool, matter-of-fact tone had Draco's stomach muscles tightening. Could he have been so wrong? Had he gone about last night incorrectly? He needed to talk to Pansy as soon as possible.

He was worried, but he didn't show it. He behaved quite the opposite, in fact. When Harry stonewalled him, Draco addressed him in the only way he knew how. Torment, meanness, hurt. He knew exactly what the wrong thing was to say and the right way to say it.

Just like last night Harry would get mad and Draco would love it. It meant that Harry would look at him now. Not just look, but really stare at him. His bright green eyes would blaze and burn into him. His cheeks would turn pink and he'd start to breathe heavily. Draco loved it when Harry was angry with him, because not only did he give Draco his full attention, but he looked incredibly sexy doing it.

"How was your date?" Draco sneered, pre-empting his desired reaction.

"None of your business." Harry continued to write. To Malfoy's disappointment, he didn't turn to look at him. He didn't change at all.

Draco didn't stop either. "Got stood up, did you?" he asked, smirking when Harry rose from his seat.

But Harry didn't look at him. He didn't stare, his cheeks didn't colour and his breathing remained the same.

He walked out of his cubicle. "Leave me alone, Malfoy. I have work to do".

---

When Harry's letter arrived, Draco knew that he wasn't mad at Austen, but he hated Malfoy more than ever.

Draco figured Harry associated Austen's absence to his appearance, thinking it was somehow Draco's fault that his date didn't show up.

He told Pansy what happened in exact detail.

"Oh Draco, you didn't!" she moaned, when he got to the part where he tipped the waitress.

"What?" he asked in bewilderment.

"If you keep behaving the way you always did he's going to hate you forever."

Draco glowered, mouth open and retort ready. Pansy stopped him before he could argue. "What did Harry say when you tipped her?"

Draco frowned. "He scowled at me and told me I hadn't changed."

"You have to stop acting like a prick around him." Pansy said, hitting Draco over the head with one of his books, as if it would knock the bad habit out of him. "You have changed. You support yourself. You care about him."

"Even if I try to show him he won't believe me."

"You have to try. Don't tease him. Be nice to him. Be his friend."

"How do I do that exactly?"

"Talk to him normally. Talk to him like you talk to me."

"You mean drunkenly, with a bottle of wine in my hand?" Draco asked, indicating the empty bottle of wine they had just finished together.

"No!" Pansy cried, hitting him with the book again. "Just try to be normal, for Merlin's sake."

Draco looked at her as if she was crazy. "But we're not normal."

Pansy sighed and nodded in agreement. "I guess not."

She thought for a moment.

"Just don't be critical or sarcastic to him."

Draco realised it would be a lot harder getting on Harry's good side than he'd originally thought.

---

"Oh Harry, you look like hell."

George and Christina both stopped what they were doing when Harry entered the joke shop.

Harry ignored the worried looks they gave him. "Austen replied," he said, holding the letter out to them.

"You sound stuffed up. Do you have a cold?" Christina asked, taking the letter.

"Only a small one."

"You should take a cold potion."

"I'm fine. I don't have time. I have to get to work. Read the letter."

"Harry, have you been sleeping?" George asked, standing next to Christina and matching her look of concern. "You're eyes don't look right."

"I don't need any sleep. I'm not tired" Harry dismissed their apprehension. "Read the letter," he repeated.

Sighing in unison, Christina and George looked to the letter and read.

_My dearest Harry,_

_I cannot tell you what happened to me last night, but I beg you from the bottom of my heart to forgive me._

_It's like Persuasion. The timing isn't right. We have to wait, but we will get our chance. I promise. _

_Don't worry, Harry. We'll be together in time. Even if we're far apart, I'll find ways to be close to you and take care of you. I'm still here. Talk to me. _

Christina smiled and turned back to Harry. "It's okay after all. What a relief."

"What do you mean it is okay?" George looked to Christina and then to Harry, struggling for understanding. "He didn't show up and he's not telling you why."

"He did say why." Christina said simply. "He's not ready to meet."

George quickly re-read the letter. "He'd didn't say that anywhere in this."

"Not directly," she agreed. "It was _implied_."

"Well, why didn't he just say he wasn't ready instead of being all cryptic?"

"Because he's being mysterious."

"That's annoying. Are you sure you're okay, Harry?"

"No, it's not, it's sexy and alluring. He probably wants their first meeting to be really special. More romantic than the restaurant they chose. He's probably planning something right now."

Harry agreed. "All I have to do is wait. I'll be fine. I have work to keep me busy until then".

Harry didn't stop for the next couple of days, and then he crashed.

Like the flick of a switch his strength left and his cold engulfed him. He was tired and sore, but he refused to stop work.

He tried to hide his cold and his exhaustion, except Finch soon caught on. For the first time Harry wasn't allowed to go on a raid. He sat at his desk in despair, too tired to be annoyed when Malfoy walked in.

He waited, but Malfoy didn't say anything. He just stood there, holding a cup in his hands.

Harry spoke first. "I don't want any coffee."

"It's not coffee. It's Lemsip."

"That's a muggle remedy."

"I know."

Draco looked at Harry with the same concern George and Christina had, but Harry didn't see it. His eyes were red and itchy. His nose was a shiny pink and his hair was even messier than usual. To everyone else he looked like a train wreck. To Draco he looked adorable.

"I'm not allowed to go on the raid." Harry said, not looking at Draco. "Finch said I'm too sick. He said, 'You could let the team down. It's not personal, it's business'. I'm stuck here doing paperwork."

Draco didn't move. "I know."

Harry faced him, frowning. "Did you come to gloat or something?"

"No."

Harry's whole face flashed red in a sudden, small anger. "That's right, I forgot. You're just here because you're doing your job. It's not personal, it's business. What is that supposed to mean? I'm so sick of hearing that. All it means is that it's not personal to you, but my job is personal to me. It affects everything I do. Everything I am. What's so wrong with personal anyway?"

"Nothing." Draco agreed.

Harry pressed his hands on his temples and let out a deep breath. His anger disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. He was too tired to maintain it. His face turned pale again and he slumped in his chair.

"My head is starting to feel funny. I have to…" He trailed off, placing his head on his desk amongst the many piles of paper.

"No you don't, Potter." Draco placed the cup in front of his head on the desk. "Drink that and then we'll go. Finch has instructed me to take you home."

Harry looked up in confusion.

"Home?"

"Yes, you're far too sick to stay at work."

"I can make my own way home, thanks," Harry said, gulping down the Lemsip and standing up unsteadily. He turned to go, but Draco laid a hand on his arm to help him. He dropped it immediately when Harry stiffened.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Harry repeated.

"I don't know."

Harry shrugged and started to walk away. Draco turned him to face him.

Harry was dizzy. It took him a while to realise that Draco was touching him again. Although Draco kept his hands light, Harry was confused and annoyed.

"Don't touch me." He tried to jerk away, but Draco tightened his grip.

"No, Potter. Apparating alone this sick would be dangerous. We'll have to side-long."

"Fine," Harry said, too tired to argue any further.

With Grimmauld Place still un-plottable, Harry and Draco appeared a street away.

Harry let go of Draco's waist the second his feet touched the ground again. He was dizzy and it took a moment for him to gain his bearings.

"That's it up there, the one with the iron gates and the wooden door."

"Thanks Potter, that really narrows it down."

"Why are you doing this?" Harry asked, as they arrived on the front step and walked through the doorway. "I know Finch told you to, but you never seemed one to obey orders."

Draco looked Harry directly in the eye so there could be no misunderstanding. "I want to be your friend."

Harry was taken back. Malfoy wasn't kidding.

"Oh."

Draco decided it was best not to stare at Harry for too long. He looked around the room instead. "This is a pretty horrible place. Why are you living here?"

"Kingsley Shaklebolt made me."

"Huh," Draco said, leaning against the door frame.

"What?"

"You never seemed one to obey orders."

Harry smiled.

"If I had to live here I'd AK myself in the head," Draco continued, surveying the room. "Or paint the door purple, put pink flamingos in the front yard and make it my mission to drive the neighbours insane."

"Where would you live if you were picking a place?" he asked.

"It sure as hell wouldn't be here," Harry said, making a beeline towards one of the old sofas and lying down.

"Some small run-down apartment in the city. Something with history and character that I could fix up. Something I could leave my mark on."

He closed his eyes.

"But then I couldn't just fix it up, because the ugly wallpaper would have grown on me and I would have grown accustomed to hearing the noisy neighbours."

"Sounds nice," Draco said.

"My old flat was like that. I miss it." Harry's voice thickened and Draco felt a stab of self blame. Harry was sad and sick, all because he missed his old house. All because Austen kept postponing their meeting and he was lonely. Draco was lonely too. They had waited long enough.

"Get some sleep, Potter. Finch doesn't expect you to be back at work for a few days at least."

He closed the door behind him for Harry and apparated back to the Ministry.

The next day he received a letter from Harry.

_Long days, these days. Work sent me home sick yesterday._

_I have a terrible cold. My ears are blocked. My nose is clogged. _

_Every time I open my eyes, I realise how isolated I've let myself become._

_It's not that I'm complaining, I need a rest, but my heart still misses Darcy Street and its flowers. I miss those flowers so much. _

Draco's reply was short.

_If you miss the flowers, come and see them when you're feeling better. I will meet you in the garden._

---

It took forever, I know. Please forgive me. I've been absolutely CRAZY with uni at the moment. Please forgive and review.

:D Lucy


	6. Part Six

Many thanks to Joy Kreager for betaing on such late notice.

**Disclaimer:**

This story is loosely based on (admittedly two of the sappiest movies ever made) 'You've Got Mail' and 'The Lake House'. As well as my all time favourite books (other than the Harry Potter series, of course) 'Bridget Jones's Diary' and 'Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason', which were both based on Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' and 'Persuasion'.

This story also contains quotes and ideas from these movies and books.

I also quoted 'Bones' a little bit in this chapter too.

You all know that I don't own the Harry Potter characters (JKR does). But if I did, something like this would happen to them...

Draco and Pansy walked the path to Harry's garden. Its colors unrolled in front of them the moment they entered, shimmering in warm sunshine.

They crossed the garden and climbed into the hammock. Shade fell across their faces like a blessing.

"Are you nervous?" Pansy asked.

"Yes," Draco admitted.

"You have nothing to lose."

"I'm scared I'll cause more damage between us. We've experienced enough of that."

Even as Draco spoke he was reflecting on damage and how the instrument of his letters, if he had behaved incorrectly, could almost certainly smash the remnants of Harry's tolerance for him – if there was any.

There was their work to consider also and the complication that would be visited on them if Harry revoked him, but there was no stepping back. Draco had told Harry to meet him. All he could hope to do was walk forward. The thought was like a reprieve and it made a beat of happiness shiver thought him.

Pansy saw the change in his eyes.

"Do you have a plan?"

"No."

"How very un-Slytherin of you."

"I want it to be different than it was at school. The Draco Malfoy from Hogwarts is still stuck in his brain. It has to be different now."

"You are different." Pansy thought for a moment. It was almost like remembering a different person. Many of his mannerisms were the same, but he was no longer a glossy, reprinted image of his parents. The consequences of the war and their Muggle lifestyle had altered all of his perspectives.

"Harry still can't see it."

Harry was at least as lonely as Draco was, Draco understood. Draco remembered all of the stillborn relationships that had followed the war. It wasn't just the thought of Harry then, that had pinched the buds before they flowered, but something in Draco himself. He didn't like dating. There were no other men like Harry Potter. Draco knew what he had wanted all along.

Before he had re-encountered Harry, before his Ministry job, Draco had gone on with his life day by day. He had done his jobs because he needed to. He hadn't looked beyond what he possessed except to long for Harry – a yearning that had soaked up all the desires he had and more.

But in the way that everything can change, Draco knew that his life had taken a different direction now. He didn't want to drag the bulk of his unhappiness about with him any longer, and he wanted to make Harry happy too. The weight had become intolerable. If he had the choice simply to drop it and take a new direction – yes, that was the choice he wanted to make. It would have to be his choice. He was prepared to make the first move.

Draco knew that he wanted Harry now, this minute, and the recognition made his skin burn. Beyond that he had no idea how to sort the longings into a sequence he could give voice to.

He knew he had to try though. He didn't want to step back. It was impossible for everything to go on being exactly the same as well. Whatever happened, it would have to mean change.

Draco would have to explain everything to Harry. He would have questions and doubts and would be hard to convince. Everything that had happened between them up to now came into consideration.

Harry had always been unbreakable, but since the war he seemed even harder and more impenetrable. Draco always seemed to be banging his head against the bloody brick wall of it.

It was time to stop. It was time to take the final step. It was time to be brave and set them both free.

When the knock came at the door Harry did not have to ask him who it might be. He moved slowly to answer it.

Malfoy stood on the step holding something out to him. Harry looked and saw a box of chocolates, shop-tied with a rosette of red ribbon.

"You can tell me to fuck off if you want."

Harry did not say anything. There was a mixture of determination and extreme vulnerability in Malfoy's face that made whatever he said irrelevant.

"I was at my desk all day and thought about you. You're stuck here on your own and I thought…"

The speech trailed off and he made a visible effort to continue. "Are you feeling better?"

To Harry's own surprise he was neither angered nor annoyed by Malfoy's presence.

"I'm all right," he lied, and then added, "I will be alright," in the hopes against all odds that he might be.

"Do you want to come in?"

Malfoy nodded and handed Harry his gift.

Harry took the offering and secured the door behind them. He made his way to the kitchen and Malfoy followed.

The complex layers of smell in the kitchen contained stale bread and cold grease and confined air.

Harry took a seat, meekly seating and shielding his eyes with his hand. He still felt ill.

He had not given any thought, in the last few days, to the further silting up of his prison. He had stopped regularly cooking and eating meals, just as he had stopped going to bed to sleep, and he felt the remainders of his haphazard snacks cluttering the counter tops and clogging the sink.

There seemed to be no point in holding steady the repeating patterns of domestic life. If he had once cooked meals and washed dishes, because he could see the garden from his kitchen window, then there truly was no reason to do these things anymore.

The mess that crept out of the corner of the house was a sour and tangible confirmation of the truth and solitude that winged and swooped around Harry like some black bird of despair.

Malfoy was moving around the room. Harry heard water running, then the rattle of the kettle as he filled and set it back on the countertop.

He opened a cupboard door and closed it again. Harry frowned and jerked up his head.

"What are you doing?"

"Making you some tea."

Malfoy stood still with his hands cupped around Harry's cold teapot, waiting for what he would say.

Dryly Harry nodded his head. "There are teabags in the cupboard to your left."

Malfoy made the tea and poured a cup for Harry, placing it on the table at a little distance. He left his own filled cup on the counter and turned to the sink.

Harry watched him as he cleared a double handful of teabags and egg shells and soaking crusts and dropped it into the bin. He ran hot water and squirted an arc of washing up liquid, releasing a sharp lemon scent.

Malfoy began to wash up, scraping plates and plunging them into the water, then deftly rinsing them and slotting them into the drying rack.

Harry drank his tea. He watched Malfoy working with his back to him. His leather jacket creaked faintly as he moved his arms. He was very large in the confined space between the sink and the table and there was an edge of control in his movements.

Harry stared at Malfoy. He was confused and amazed. In all his years of knowing Malfoy, the last thing he expected him to do was voluntarily clean, let alone voluntarily clean Harry's house.

The thought momentarily took away his grief and bitterness so that he felt a kind of natural relief that Malfoy had come here, to fill the empty aching space.

"Why are you doing that?" he asked.

Malfoy shrugged, beginning to clean the burned pan that Harry had set on the ring and forgotten about two days ago. "It looked like it needed doing."

"Your tea will go cold." Harry reminded him.

"I didn't really want tea."

"Then what do you want?"

Malfoy paused in his cleaning, letting the pan slip into the sink. "You're wondering why I came here".

"Stop washing up now," Harry answered, making Malfoy turn away from the sink reluctantly.

Harry gestured to a chair on the opposite side of the table. When Malfoy sat down Harry noticed his hands and the way his hair hung in light wisps across his forehead. He was a handsome man without even trying.

Harry went on, not waiting for him to answer. "You're helping me."

It was more of a question than a statement. "Yes," Malfoy answered.

"Why?"

Malfoy shrugged again, "Because I can."

Harry knew Malfoy was no longer being difficult. He was just being honest. This was strange and un-chartered territory for them both. He got up from the table and went to one of the cupboards. He took out the whisky bottle and two glasses and poured Malfoy a measure.

Malfoy looked blankly at him. "You're giving me a drink?"

"You wouldn't drink my tea. What else should I offer you? Flubberworms? A cup of bleach?"

A twitch of disbelieving laughter changed Malfoy's face. He picked up the glass and took a gulp of Fire whisky. Harry did the same. They relaxed and put their glasses to the side.

"You said you wanted to be my friend." Harry answered his own question from before.

"You act as if this is recent news."

"It is."

"No, it isn't. I've always wanted to be your friend. I tried in first year. You rejected me."

"So it's a pride thing?"

"No."

"You never liked to lose to me. It killed you every time I caught the snitch."

"This isn't about Quidditch, Potter. This is about you and me." Draco gestured to the small amount of space between them.

"You and I have always been the same; competitive on and off the Quidditch pitch. It all started when I wouldn't shake your hand in first year. You never let me live it down."

Draco sighed, slightly turning away. They had been having this same argument for years. It was like they were dancing, both fighting to take the lead. "We can never talk about our present without bringing up our past."

Harry nodded in agreement. "To accept you as a friend now would be forgiving you for everything you did. It's too hard to forget, too painful to rub out."

"I think our relationship will always be complicated, but that doesn't mean we can't put the war behind us."

"We would still have hated each other without the war, without Gryffindor versus Slytherin and without any past follies. There's something inside of us that causes it." Harry moved his chair so that they were face to face again, making Malfoy look him in the eye.

It was the same argument, but the energy was different somehow. It wasn't a fight for the sake of their ongoing warfare. It was a fight that would lead them towards a solution.

Draco met Harry's gaze, dragging his chair towards him, bringing them close again. "I don't hate you anymore. It's over. It's changed."

"Nothing has changed. The Ministry is still tracking down old Death Eaters. The battle isn't over. I still need security protection. I'm the same person I've always been and so are you." The expression on Harry's faced was pained and confused. He leaned forward.

They were as close as they could be to each other without touching. Draco could feel Harry's breath against his face. Harry's breathing was slow, but heavy. It made the hairs on the back of Draco's neck stand up. He breathed in slowly himself before speaking.

"You may find those wanted Death Eaters, you may not. Either way it won't matter to anyone. The rest of the world is moving forward again and you know it. I can tell you're miserable. You know that you're being left behind. Weasley, Granger, Shacklebolt and everyone around you is happy, and you don't understand how they could be after everything that has happened to them. It all went for so long. You don't know what other directions there are for you to take."

Draco took another breath, this time leaning back.

"I can help you there."

He held out his hand, offering it to Harry to shake.

Harry stared for a moment at Malfoy's outstretched hand. There was a strength in his gesture – that of an independent and determined man. His hand was outstretched with his palm facing up, with the comfort of innate acceptance. No hesitation. He seemed to sense Harry's uneasiness.

"We are what we are, Potter. You can go on fighting this battle, but you'll be fighting alone."

It was the way he said it, _alone_, that opened up a vista for Harry of how everything in Malfoy's landscape had changed too, gone dark, just as it had for him. Malfoy was lonely too and stuck in a place that made him miserable. And then, in an instant's clear perception Harry understood that Draco Malfoy felt exactly as he did. They weren't different. They were the same.

Harry reached out and took Draco's hand in his. They shook hands and let go. There was a long, silent moment in which Harry felt an unexpected connection, a thread of magnetism between them. Unsure of what to make of it, Harry stood up again and filled their empty glasses with more firewhisky.

They drank quickly, the silence still stretching on. Neither of them seemed to know what to do now. It was a moment neither of them had believed would ever happen.

In the end, it was Harry who broke the silence. "Do you want something to eat?"

As Malfoy stared at him Harry laughed and suddenly shrugged. "Actually there isn't anything to eat now; I come to think of it. But there is plenty to drink."

"We could go out for Chinese or something," Malfoy said tentatively.

"Yeah. Okay." Harry's glass was empty. He stood up and needed to steady himself on the table.

Malfoy stood up too. He did it too quickly and his chair almost overbalanced. The clatter startled them both. Belatedly, Harry reached out with his other hand to stop the chair from falling. His hand somehow landed on Draco, in the place between his shoulder and neck.

In a brief pause, they stared at each other, and then Harry swayed forward unexpectedly. Without thinking, Draco reached out to steady him, both of his hands finding Harry's waist.

Draco was slightly taller, so Harry had to look up to see him properly. The movement pulled their faces together. Harry blinked confusedly.

Maybe he had drunk too much too quickly, or maybe he hadn't been looking at Malfoy properly all these years, but somehow a strange thought occurred to him.

Malfoy's face wasn't sharp or pointy as Harry had originally thought. It looked soft, his expression gentle.

"We probably shouldn't have drunk the whisky," Draco said, "You're still a bit sick."

"I'm fine, Malfoy. I just stood up too quickly," Harry assured, as his knees buckled a little and Malfoy had to his waist tighter.

"You know, we should probably start calling each other by our first names now," Malfoy said, his hands warms and secure against Harry's t-shirt.

"Right. That's what friends do." Harry nodded, his hand leaving the table and patting Malfoy on his other shoulder, "Draco."

Draco smiled. The depth of the moment was crystalline and absolute, without the smallest possibility that it would be shattered in the next second by the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

"Harry!" a woman called. "We've come by to see how you are doing. We picked up your mail on the way."

They both realized it was Hermione. Suddenly, she was standing in the kitchen with Ron like a surprise party gone wrong.

Hermione gasped. Ron shouted, reaching for his wand, "What the fuck are you doing here, Malfoy? Get your hands off him!"

Draco carefully let go of Harry, moving him to lean against the table in case he still needed some support. "I'll be going," he said to him.

A plea rose in Harry's throat, _don't_, but Draco turned and went before he could articulate it. Ron's wand carefully followed Draco as he left. He began to follow him up the stairs, but Harry stopped him.

"It's okay, Ron."

Ron whipped around. "How?" he demanded.

Harry sighed. There was no use trying to explain. "I'll make some coffee."

He didn't look at either of them as he went deliberately about the business of filling the kettle with water and retrieving the coffee tin from the shelf.

Hermione took the coffee tin out of Harry's hands. "Harry," she said with concern, "What's going on?"

"What was he doing here?" Ron added.

Harry stopped what he was doing, turning to face them. "We were just talking. We drank some firewhisky. I nearly fell and he stopped me."

"Are you drunk?"

"No."

Ron's face was stiff with angry disbelief. "How could you let him into your house after what he did? Has he done something? You've got to tell us. Has he threatened you? Harry, he must have done, you couldn't have just let him in."

"Couldn't I?" Harry challenged. To defend himself had become the most vital thing. They were always protective of him, now in a way that was suffocating him. He realized that half of the reason he accepted Draco as a friend was to revoke them. He wanted to show that he didn't need their protection anymore. He could take care of himself. He felt like a teenager disobeying strict parents.

"How about if it's me who decided that Draco and I should be friends? How about if we forgive each other? How about we're sick of fighting a war that ended years ago? Can't you imagine?"

Ron shook his head. "No. I can't imagine. It's unnatural, immoral. It isn't you, Harry."

"Ron," Hermione murmured, warning him.

"How do you know?" Harry asked coldly, taking the tin of coffee back. He did not care to make this better now. He was angry and did not want to smooth and reassure or dissemble. He wanted to be himself.

"What about Dumbledore?" Ron pleaded.

"Dumbledore is dead." Harry stonewalled him.

"Yeah, he is, because that slimy--"

"Draco didn't kill him."

Ron stepped back in disbelief. "_Draco_? Since when is he Draco to you?"

Hermione stepped forward, blocking Ron. "Harry," she began again carefully, "Is there something going on between you and Malfoy?"

Harry shrugged. "We're friends now, I guess."

"WHAT?!"

Ron shouted and Hermione stepped even closer.

"What kind of friend?" she asked, giving Harry a strange look. "

"I don't know," Harry begun. "Just--" he stopped when he realized what she was hinting at.

Harry turned away from her in disbelief. "It's nothing like that."

"I'm sorry, but the way you were touching each other before…"

"I don't fancy him." Harry pushed out the words impatiently.

"You've been awfully quite lately and you didn't come to the dinner party. Was it because of Malfoy?" Hermione continued.

Harry cringed. He knew there was only one way to stop her.

"I didn't go to the dinner party because I'm seeing someone. It's not Draco Malfoy."

"Who?" Hermione and Ron asked together, their concerned expressions changing to ones of nosy interest.

"You don't know him. It's kind of a long distance relationship."

"When did you meet?"

"We haven't."

"What?"

"No."

Harry turned to the stack of letters they had brought with them. "We write to each other," he said, gesturing towards the pile."

Hermione and Ron exchanged nervous glances.

Harry knew what they were thinking. "It's safe," he told them. "He lives in my old apartment. He forwards my mail, that's how it all started."

"He must write one hell of a letter," Hermione commented, as Harry reached for the letter on the top of the pile. He had immediately recognized Austen's handwriting.

Ron and Hermione watched him in bewilderment, as he opened the letter and read its contents.

"What does it say?"

Harry smiled. "We're finally going to meet."

"You're finally going to meet! YOU'RE FINALLY GOING TO MEET!" Pansy chanted, skipping around the room, Harry's reply in hand.

"Stop fucking opening my mail!" Draco snapped, snatching the letter from her. "It's private."

"You can't hide anything from me," Pansy retorted. "I found a lipstick stain on one of Daniel's shirts. I think he's cheating."

"No surprises there."

"Do you think I should kick him out of the apartment?"

"Yes," Draco answered, carefully opening the letter. "Then hex his testicles off, staple them to his forehead and push him off the top story of your building."

Pansy sighed sadly, taking a large gulp from the bottle of wine they were sharing. "Do you think it's worth it?" she asked.

"What are you talking about?" Draco asked, studying the letter happily before folding it away safely.

"Relationships," Pansy replied. "Do you think it's worth having your own happiness contingent on another human being?"

Draco paused in his search for writing paper, slightly stunned by Pansy's sudden seriousness.

"Don't start," he warned, taking the bottle from her and taking a sip. "You shouldn't waste any more time thinking about that wanker."

"So you don't think relationships are worth it?"

Draco considered the question, before the bottle of wine back and disappearing into his bedroom. "All relationships are worth it, you just have to find the right person."

"But what if they died?"

"We're all going to die."

When Draco returned, pen and paper in hand, Pansy was already opening a second wine bottle.

"What am I supposed to do then?"

"Finish the wine," Draco said simply, taking a seat in his armchair and beginning to write. "Get messy. You're supposed to cry and scream and bitch and be miserable."

Pansy stared at him confusedly. "So you're not convinced that loving someone is worth it?"

Draco didn't look up from his letter, his pen moving quickly across the page. "You're supposed to be in pain."

"I am."

"Good." Draco nodded. "Then tomorrow morning you get up, pick up all the broken pieces of you're fucked up life, put them back together again and become a better person because of it. Everything is worth that. Every wanker. Every fuck up. Every moment. It's all leading somewhere."

Pansy's mouth curved into a large smile. "You have read too much Proust, Draco Malfoy."

Draco smiled back. "What doesn't kill us makes us who we are."

"So do you think that your years of suffering are over, Marcel?"

Draco sighed, putting his pen aside and folding his letter into an envelope. "There's only one way to find out."

_My dearest Harry,_

I will meet you in the garden tomorrow at nine o'clock. When you come around the curve in the path, you'll find me there waiting. The timing is finally right.

Please review!  Lucy


	7. Part Seven

Thanks to Vittani, my wonderful beta, who always comes through for me when I need it most.

**Disclaimer:**

This story is loosely based on (admittedly two of the sappiest movies ever made) 'You've Got Mail' and 'The Lake House'. As well as my all time favourite books (other than the Harry Potter series, of course) 'Bridget Jones's Diary' and 'Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason', which were both based on Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' and 'Persuasion'.

This story also contains quotes and ideas from these movies and books.

You all know that I don't own the Harry Potter characters (JKR does). But if I did, something like this would happen to them...

---

_You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight and a half years ago. _

_Dare not say that a man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant.  
_

_- Jane Austen, __Persuasion__, Chapter Twenty-Three_

Harry made his way to work slowly. He walked with his hands in his pockets and did not hurry to the elevator. He slumped against its back wall as the grilles clanged shut. The lift began to descend and a silence settled.

The peace didn't last long. The lift rattled to a stop on Level Seven and a large group of wizards squeezed through the doorway. The noise level rose and Harry stood within his bubble of isolation and let it break over him.

"Gloat all you want, Enderby, but just because your Appleby Arrows beat the Chudley Cannons last week, it doesn't mean they'll be a match for the Wimbourne Wasps tomorrow."

"You seem to be forgetting that our Beaters exceed theirs in both strength and execution."

"Yes, but your Seeker has failed to catch the snitch in his past five matches!"

"You know as well as I do that the snitch doesn't always win the game, Alconbury."

"I bet you ten galleons that it does this time."

"Make it twenty!"

"Thirty then!"

"FIFTY!"

"YOU'RE ON!"

Harry sighed. He had nearly gone into playing professional Quidditch. He had chosen the Auror career path in the end as he figured it would help more people. It was a foolish mistake. Nobody needed his help anymore. The only person who needed saving was himself.

The Ministry was a mundane place. He spent muddled, ordinary times in it. The excitement and adventure of the past was long gone. They had been stuffed away in dusted, cobwebbed cardboard. He felt no more duty, no more a piece or a part belonging to this place. He looked at his watch. It was nine o'clock. Twelve hours until he would see Austen.

As the lift reached Level Three, and the group of wizards flooded out, it seemed inconceivable now that Harry had ever tried to integrate himself, let alone keep on trying for so long. Determination was crystallising inside him. It tasted like elation salted with fear. He felt the potential energy to leave spring-loaded inside him, surely there was just enough of it to carry him away and out of the gravitational field of the Ministry. Beyond that, he had no idea.

"_Level Two, Auror Headquarters."_

When the wrought iron grilles rattled open on Level Two, Harry remained slumped against the back wall, staring. He was impatient for his meeting with Austen. He could not wait for the day to be over so he could finally see his garden and meet his pen pal.

"_Level Two, Auror Headquarters." _The cool female voice repeated after a short moment of silence.

Harry closed his eyes and let out a sharp breath of air through his nostrils. "I guess I have no other choice for now," he murmured to himself.

He drifted slowly down the familiar corridor, considering his words and the way they hinted at his longing for a different future. i_For now_./i In no more than an instant's flicker like a pale flame, his relationship with Draco Malfoy had changed. Change suddenly seemed exceedingly possible, unavoidable even. He wanted to change, as far away from the Ministry as possible.

Aside from the death and destruction he had actually enjoyed the job at first; it was challenging and interesting work, it even felt meaningful to ascribe his efforts to a cause, rather than drifting listlessly.

They fed, housed, clothed, trained, disciplined, and paid him, and at the end of the day all he had to offer in return was his life.

Rationally, physically, financially, it was the best he had ever been in his entire life. He hadn't been aware that doing something for logical reasons alone would be little comfort, and whilst it had already paid dividends beyond what he anticipated in almost every way, and could continue to do so for the foreseeable future, he finally realised that some things (friends, lovers, lifestyle, freedom) can never be underestimated.

The Ministry has its place, he noted, but that place was far removed from the demands of his reality. It was time to flip the proverbial bird to the mainstream, throw away his career, his old prospects, and his old ambitions. There was another side to life, some exciting and intoxicating underbelly beyond his safe, reliable, mundane existence.

As he seized the handles of the heavy oak doors that enclosed the Auror Headquarters, he resolved to resign his position as soon as possible and work with George, as requested, in the joke shop.

Sometimes making it right means walking away and never looking back. He was going to walk right up to Finch and hand in his badge. He wasn't going to waste another day. The more time spent thinking about the best way to live your life, the less time you have in which to live it.

He threw open the doors and lunged forward, only to charge straight forward into a wall of hard wood. He stepped back dizzily, grasping his forehead in pain and blinking wildly in surprise.

When his vision focused again, he gasped in shock. Before him stood a fence painted in faded blue, with orange, scarlet and ginger flowers spilling over the top.

Slowly, he pushed the gate open, breathing in the unmistakable scent of flowers. Instantly, noise burst out at him. There were Aurors everywhere, running and shouting. Finch was in the midst of it all, waving his wand wildly and barking orders. Harry stood back in amazement, watching the scene unfold in front of him.

There was a big evergreen tree with a hammock slung from the branches in the corner where Perpetua's desk used to be. Grass covered the floorboards and climbed the walls, covering the photographs of wanted Death Eaters. Flowers and plants had replaced all of the office desks and cubicles.

It was his garden; his perfect world, and as he stood admiring it the people of the Ministry were fiercely and relentlessly trying to pull it apart. It seemed Finch had called in as many people as he could to help.

As he looked closer Harry could see that Ron and Hermione were amongst them. Ron looked confused and Hermione looked frustrated. She was pointing her wand at a nearby rosebush and muttering to herself.

Some wizards were doing the same as Hermione, whereas others, frustrated and impatient beyond rationality, had thrown their wands away and were trying to remove the foliage by hand.

"Malfoy!"

Harry jumped as Finch yelled. "Stop standing there and do something!"

Harry followed Finch's angry gaze to where Draco was sitting on a small tree stump, smiling fixedly at Harry.

Harry's breath suddenly stopped short, his chest tightened and his heart began to beat faster. "It couldn't be," he whispered to himself.

He quickly studied the ground beneath him, noticing a stone path, barely discernable through the layers of thick grass. His eyes followed the path as it curved and ended at the tree stump where Draco was sitting.

_I will meet you in the garden tomorrow at nine o'clock. When you come around the curve in the path, you'll find me there waiting. The timing is finally right._

The memories of the past few months returned to his mind with perfect and unobscured clarity. He didn't know how it had begun. It had advanced in stages, so tiny as to seem unimportant, until the threshold of intolerance had long been passed and nothing could be done to revive the past for either of them.

Harry found his feet moving forward. His breath started to tremble on the first step. Draco rose as Harry reached him.

"Hi," Harry said nervously.

"Hi." Draco's voice was warm and husky, with a touch of nervousness as well. It made Harry shiver.

Harry stood transfixed. "It was you."

"Yeah," Draco replied. "You can tell me to fuck off if you want."

He said it differently to the way he had said it in the front doorway of Grimmauld Place. He was smiling, his eyes were bright.

"How did you do this?" Harry asked in bewilderment. "They can't even destroy it." It reminded Harry of Fred and George's swamp. The garden seemed to contain the same powerful magic, only more meaningful to Harry because it was made for him.

"You gave it to me," Draco said simply. "I want to give it back to you. You need it."

Harry's heart began to beat faster now. He could feel his pulse hammer at his wrists, at his throat, at his chest. His whole body vibrated with it.

"Is that all you want?"

"No."

Draco took a step closer. He lifted both hands, running his fingers through Harry's hair. He leaned closer, and then paused. Harry's lips trembled apart.

This was the moment he had been waiting for. He had never in his wildest dreams imagined that Draco Malfoy would be in it, but the moment was too perfect to second guess. Harry desired change and opening himself up to a romantic love with Draco Malfoy was the most complex, horrific, beautiful and insane change of all.

He let Draco's lips meet his, firm and gentle. At first they barely touched, just tasted. Then he lingered for a moment, keeping the kiss soft.

Harry curled his hands around Draco's arms. There were muscles, hard, firm muscles that he wouldn't think of until much later. Now he thought only of Draco's mouth. He was barely kissing him at all, yet the shock of the impact almost winded him.

Degree by aching degree Draco deepened the kiss. Harry's fingers tightened desperately on Draco's arms. His mouth brushed over Harry's, then came back with more pressure. His tongue feathered lightly over his. He only touched Harry's hair, though his body tempted him. He drew out every ounce of pleasure with his mouth alone. The gentleness, the feather-light pressure that turned his blood to flame. It was perfect.

Harry knew what it was to be hungry – for food, for adventure, for love, for a man – but he hadn't experienced this raw, painful need in years. He wanted the taste of Draco, only the taste of Draco. It was at once sweet and pungent.

When the kiss ended they both remained still, holding each other close. Harry kept his eyes shut. It was exactly what he needed – to be held, just to be held. Draco's chest was firm against his, his arms strong around his neck. Yet he knew he was being held as if he was something precious, and for the first time in his life Harry wanted to be fragile.

The noise of the room seemed a long way off, but threading in and out of his consciousness he thought he could hear the counterpoint of Ron's voice and Hermione calling.

The moment was finally broken by Finch walking up to them and screaming.

"POTTER! MALFOY! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!"

They both stared at him, shocked, but unperturbed.

"If you two don't start helping like the others you'll be out of a job!"

Harry and Draco looked at each other and smiled, before turning back to Finch.

"I hate to use an overdone cliché, sir," Draco said, smirking. "But you can't fire us, because we quit."

Finch disregarded Draco with a scowl and flick of his wrist. He turned to Harry.

Harry smirked as well, "I'm with Draco, Finch. If staying here means working within ten yards of you, frankly, I'd rather have a job wiping Mundungus Fletcher's arse."

---

Harry and Draco left the Ministry laughing. They laughed all the way to Grimmauld Place, to pack Harry's things and move them back into his apartment.

Harry's bedroom was dark when they entered it. Harry reached for his wand, but Draco stopped him. "I can't wait," he whispered into Harry's ear.

He fumbled with Harry's belt, and then dropped their shirts on the floor.

Harry shivered. The air was cold against his shoulders. Draco lay him down on the bed. His touch was foreign and yet familiar.

He kissed Harry. "Can I touch you like this?"

"Yes."

"And like this. Oh yes."

Draco moved his hands, finding that Harry's flesh was more muscular than his own but still soft, seemingly soft enough to dissolve. Harry smelled manly and complicated, and so enticing that Draco wanted to bury his face in him.

"What do you like?"

"I like all the usual things."

"This?"

"Yes."

Harry groaned. Draco's hand was on him. His mouth moved over Harry's face, from his eyelids to his throat.

They didn't talk for a while, allowing a different type of language. The bedclothes coiled around them and they pushed them away, freeing themselves.

"Have you got something I can use? In your bedside drawer?"

Harry laughed, a touch wildly. "I don't. I don't do this."

In the years since the end of the war there had been one or two mild dinner dates, exchanged flirtations. Tepid possibilities that he had dismissed. There was nothing he could remember that came near this imperative, instant connection. The urgency of it.

"It's alright. I know a spell. Is that okay?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Now. There. And _there_. And..."

Harry smiled, holding Draco in his arms, widening his legs around him. It was amazing, the fluency, the comedy and the brutality and tenderness of it. Now he was free, easily becoming an amphibian again after a long time on dry land.

"Draco. Oh, Draco. Wait. No. Yes, oh. _Ah_."

Draco kissed him lightly on his forehead.

"I'm sorry," Harry said sheepishly.

"It's okay. You'll be ready to go again in a minute."

"I'd forgotten. That's what you do in your twenties. Alright, now you."

"No, it's fine."

"Yes. Hands or mouth? Or we can do it together. Give me your hand, here, like this. Like this?"

"Oh. Yes. Harry. Just like that."

Once they had begun, they understood now, there was no ending. They were driven over and into and around and under each other. Their day stretched into night, dwindled into a matter of minutes.

"Again."

"Now?"

"Immediately. Sooner."

"There. And there. Turn over. Put the pillow there, what do you feel?"

"I feel," Harry said, "unwrapped. Bare. Nothing to hide."

"Good. So do I."

"I'm sore."

"Yes. We've done it too much."

"Hold me instead."

"I am holding you. Are you tired?"

Harry nodded. "But I've never felt so alive."

"Nor have I. It's like discovering a sixth sense. No, six extra senses."

"I'm sleepy, but I don't want to go to sleep."

"You need some sleep. Close your eyes."

Harry lay on his side as Draco fitted himself into the curve of his back and knees. He felt his exhaled breath innocently warm against his neck, slow and deep.

"I wonder if they've figured out how to remove the garden yet."

Harry felt Draco's mouth move against his skin. He was smiling.

"They won't be able to remove it, not for awhile anyway."

A week later, when Harry had comfortably settled into living in the apartment with Draco, several large packages from the Ministry arrived labelled, _Return to Sender_, in thick, black ink.

Harry opened one of the boxes and barked with laughter, "Draco, they finally figured it out."

The boxes were filled with flowers, grass and tree branches.

Draco appeared behind Harry, wrapping his arms around his waist.

"They didn't figure it out," he said simply. "I made it to only stick for a week."

"Why?"

"I didn't want them to have the garden forever. It's only for you."

"You and I," Harry corrected.

"Yes." Draco smiled. "You and I."

---

_The End_

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